Vegas
by XWaltzforVenusX
Summary: Strippers, alcohol, and very dirty phone calls: Ryan goes to a bachelor party in Vegas! RT, SS.
1. Day 1

_Oh my… don't ask me where this thing came from (too much Red Bull and __Goldfrapp__?). Anyway, don't judge me too harshly, because it's my first attempt at first person POV. It switches between Ryan and Taylor, so hopefully you'll all catch on to which one is which…_

_Each chapter is a day, but I won't be posting every day._

_And for those who care (or want a little mood-music): this is written to 'Ooh La __La__' by __Goldfrapp__, off the album '__Supernature_

_Also, I had to re-post due to a little typo that I couldn't live with, so sorry if you thought it was an update..._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

I hand him the duffel bag, which he settles on his shoulder, kissing me hurriedly on the cheek. "I'll see you next week," he whispers into my ear, and the familiar twang of unease goes through me. I won't get to see him for seven whole days. It's not a happy thought. After college I swore I'd never go long without seeing him – the time in Paris, being away from him for semesters at a time, had been unbearable. But I smile, knowing that a week really isn't _that_ long.

"Keep Seth out of trouble," I tell him, and the corner of his mouth lifts up in a smirk. I want to kiss it.

"I'll do my best."

"You'd better," Summer's voice cuts in warningly, and we both look at the small brunette standing near us. "I'm warning you, Cohen," she turns back to Seth, finger pointing, "there had better be no phone calls from the police _or_ the hospital. Cause I'm not driving down to Vegas to bail you out." Seth ducks his head sheepishly, mumbling agreement to his fiancée.

"We'd better go," Ryan cuts in, wanting to help his brother out. It's adorable how protective he is of the boy. Seth gives him a thankful look, and opens the trunk, motioning for Ryan to start loading the bags. "Why do I have to?" he groans in annoyance, but starts throwing their stuff in anyway.

"You provide the muscle and the driving, I provide the tunes," Seth explains, waving his Ipod in Ryan's face. Ryan glares – _so hot_ – but continues throwing their luggage into the back. He puts his own duffel bag in last, closing the hatch a little harder than is probably necessary.

"Have fun with the strippers!" I call cheerfully, loving the way he gets all embarrassed and twitchy. He tries to protest, but I roll my eyes. "Ryan," my tone cuts him off, "it's _Vegas_ and you're going to a bachelor party. I _want_ you to have fun, and if that means strippers, then go for it." Summer's looking at me like I'm insane, and Seth is shooting her hopeful looks.

"No, Cohen," she warns, and I shake my head in amusement at them. It's like a screwball comedy with those two all the time.

"You _want_ me to hang with strippers?" he steps closer to me, leaning his head down so our conversation can't be heard by the other two. Not that they would hear us anyway – they're too busy arguing. I resist the urge to kiss him – it's something I constantly have to deal with when he gets close to me – instead opting to smooth out his t-shirt.

"Ryan," I sigh, tugging the hem of his shirt straighter, "I know you're not good at the whole relaxing thing, but this is supposed to be a fun weekend. So have some, ok?" I look up into his crystal clear blue eyes, getting lost in them. He's gone through so much in his life; he had to grow up so fast. I want him to just be a normal guy this weekend, with no cares in the world, just alcohol and strippers. Wait. "Except don't sleep with any," I add, trying not to sound like I'm rethinking this whole thing. It's not that I don't trust him, I do. Completely. But do I trust girls not to take advantage of him? God no. Hell, _I_ had once been a needy girl trying to seduce Ryan Atwood.

He must see the uncertainty in my eyes, because he laughs, sliding an arm around my waist. "Nah," he bends forward to kiss me lightly, eyes shining with amusement, "I don't think I want to risk your wrath." I swat him on the arm, glaring up at him with what I hope is a convincingly angry look.

"Ryan, let's go," Seth calls, and his arm drops from my waist, and he gives me one last, quick kiss before he gets in the driver's seat. I give him a little wave as the car starts up, backing out of the drive and rolling down the street.

"I can't believe you're ok with them getting strippers in Vegas," Summer folds her arms over her stomach.

"Summer, it's a bachelor party."

"I know," she replies, a confident smirk curling her lips. "But telling Cohen he can't get any will make him feel guilty when he does – and I know he will. And if he feels guilty, then he'll be _very_ attentive when he gets home… "

I gasp in mock horror, breaking into a grin myself. I should have known Summer would have her own plan – and it was a damn good one. Not that it would have worked with Ryan. If I had forbid him outright, he would obey me – feeling obligated – but I know he would also feel like I didn't trust him. Sometimes I wish he would get over that, his whole insecurity. He seems to think that no one trusts him, and he always seems to question why anyone would like him, or want to help him. I really hope he has a good time this weekend.

"Well," I say, pushing thoughts of the boys out of my mind, "let's get ready for _your_ bachelorette party."

We're going to have a fun week ourselves.

* * *

I try to tune out the music – some underground indie band singing some song that sounds all happy, but is actually satirically condescending. Wait. 'Satirically condescending'? I've been hanging out with Taylor _way_ too much.

Anyway, the music sucks, and I'm just itching to disconnect Seth's IPod and pop in _Escape_ – Journey's best album to date, hands down. But it's his bachelor's party, and for some reason, he doesn't like Journey. _Who doesn't like Journey_?

Taylor likes Journey.

I feel a little guilty about this trip – Vegas, strippers, alcohol – but she said it was ok… that's what I love about her. She never tries to guilt-trip me - ok, she did when my dad first showed up – but she only does it when it's important. Only when it's what's best for me. And even with the whole birth-father thing, she let me make my own choice, she said she'd support me whichever way I went. She lets me do my thing – brood, get some distance, what have you – and she doesn't ask questions. It's nice.

She's the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was lucky to get her when I did. God knows the last thing I needed after Marissa's death was _another_ controlling girlfriend. Although, if you ask Seth, Taylor _does_ control me, but it's because I _choose_ to let her. It's fucking hot when she takes charge…

I shake my head vigorously, trying to get _those_ thoughts out of my head, because I'm driving, and _those_ thoughts are going to make me drive into a tree or something. Luckily I have the perfect thing to keep me distracted.

"So are you excited about your bachelor party?" I ask, flicking my eyes sideways at Seth, and now that I think about it, I'm surprised he isn't already talking about it. I mean, we've already been driving for twenty minutes.

"I'm not sure 'excited' is the word I'd use, Ryan," he mopes, and I sigh blissfully, his ranting pushing all thoughts of dominating Taylor out of my head. "More like 'scared' of what Summer's gonna do when I get back, or 'nervous' because the last few times we went to Vegas, things didn't end so well. As you may recall, we spent the first time getting ripped off by a sneaky prostitute and her evil pimp, and the second time we spent the night chasing a green alien and getting ditched by our women. I also recall getting prematurely engaged to Summer, and you… well you didn't get laid, and that in itself is tragic – and also a little hilarious." I grin and shake my head at him – he really can ramble. "I'm actually surprised you planned a Vegas thing, though. It's not really your style… way too flashy."

"It wasn't actually me," I confess, a little chagrined. "It was Bullit…"

Seth turns to me, eyes going hilariously wide, "The _Bullit_ planned my bachelor party? Are you crazy? We're going to end up arrested, or… dead."

I shrug, "he heard I wanted to do something quiet, and he flipped out. Not rage-flipped out, but he went into this frenzy… I didn't have the energy to stop him. But hey, upside? At least any prostitutes we run into at the party are going to be prepaid…" I let the sentence hang, and Seth chokes back a laugh. We both know he would _never_ cheat on Summer – he's too whipped. And to be honest, so am I – although I'd never admit it out loud.

"Well, mi amigo, I fully expect to die this week, so it was good knowing you."

* * *

Summer throws her arms up in the air with a loud holler, and the stripper gyrates his way towards her. I grin at the sight: Summer's completely smashed, slouched on the bench seat, a roll of one dollar bills in her right fist, a content grin on her face. I take my phone out stealthily and snap a few pictures, making sure to get the shirtless man in there as well. The stripper – I'm calling him Joe in my head – undulates his hips, unbuttoning his pants and slowly pulling down the zipper. Summer stares at him hungrily.

Kaitlin eggs her on from the sideline – still as rowdy as ever, even though she's older and cleaned up her act a lot. Julie's just as enthusiastic, gulping down champagne and dancing to the pounding, base-heavy music. I'm a little tipsy myself, but not too much. Kirsten's the only one of us not drunk – the downfall to being a recovering alcoholic, and she seems slightly embarrassed by everyone's antics. I grin at the thought. She's watching her future daughter-in-law shove bills into the g-string of a man who is definitely _not_ her fiancée.

"Don't worry," I walk over to her – with minimal stumbling – and she looks up at me with a smile.

"I know. I'm not worried. Summer would _never_ cheat on Seth." I watch her as she glances towards Summer, and the look in her eyes makes my entire body warm over. Kirsten is just so full of love, it makes me wonder how my own mother was born without any. She looks back at me, and I want to cry when the look doesn't go away. Sometimes it takes me by surprise – the fact that people actually love me now.

* * *

"What?" I call loudly over the pounding music, trying to hear what Seth is saying.

"Dude!" Seth shouts drunkenly, tilting over. I catch him, holding him upright by the shoulder as he talks, "this party is _awesome_. Have you seen the dancers? They're _hot_."

"Yeah, man," I yell back, looking over at the dancers on poles. Somehow, I can't quite get into it. This club is too much like one we went to… God, ages ago, back in high school, where I saw Hailey dancing… ew.

"Hey baby," a smooth voice purrs from behind me, and Seth's eyes open wide. I turn to look at a half naked blonde whose hips are twitching to the beat of the music.

"Hello, you're pretty," Seth slurs, trying to reach for his drink but knocking the glass off the table. The girl giggles, raking her eyes up and down him. "She thinks I'm sexy," he whispers to me. Except it's not so much a whisper as it is a very loud shout, and the girl giggles again. I roll my eyes and turn to the girl.

"He's getting married in two weeks," I tell her, trying to spare her the time. The last thing she needs is to spend all night dancing with Seth, at the end of which he'll mope and whine and apologize profusely about how much he loves Summer, because she's _Summer Roberts_, and an angel sent from heaven, perfect, blah, blah, blah.

"So?" she slinks forward suggestively, reaching her hand out to run a finger down his chest. I catch her wrist halfway there, and she shoots me an angry look.

"He's _happily_ getting married in two weeks."

"I love Summer so much," a sated grin takes over Seth's face, and his eyes glaze over. I let him drop into a chair, and he rests his chin on his fist, staring off into space. The girl huffs.

"And what about you? Are _you_ 'happily' getting married in two weeks?" She glances down at my left hand, and really, I'm flattered – what with being the second choice of an obviously desperate girl – but I shake my head at her.

"Happily involved," I tell her, although 'involved' in no way explains my relationship with Taylor. Maybe if I had added 'with a girl I'm hopelessly, desperately, in love with'. She seems to catch my drift, though, and walks away. I see her begin a conversation with a group of guys not twenty feet from me. Wow.

* * *

The party's still going strong. Summer, Julie, Kaitlin, and a bunch of girls from G.E.O.R.G.E. are all dancing in the middle of the club I rented. As Summer's Maid of Honor, I spared no expense procuring various places for our week-long end of single-hood party. Tonight's agenda: booze, strippers, and dancing. It was going perfectly.

I'm taking a break, gulping down water – partly to quench my thirst, partly to replenish the water I had sweated out from dancing, and partly to diminish the hangover I would have tomorrow. The stripper, who had up until now been dancing with the girls, makes his way over to me with a smile. I smile back – if Ryan's allowed to have fun, so am I – and he extends his hand to me. I take it, and he drags me back over to the group. The music takes me over again, and I begin to sway. I look over at the basically naked man next to me, and I have a flash – I must really be drunk – that it's Ryan. But it's not. Too bad. I'd give almost anything to see Ryan dance around naked.

Maybe when he gets back from Vegas, I'll try to get him to strip for me.

* * *

I help Seth to his room, because seriously? the guy is a horrible drunk. I mean really, really, God-awful at handling booze. I let him drop to the bed, making sure he's on his stomach in case he throws up during the night – the last thing I need is Summer killing me because I let Seth choke to death on his own vomit.

When I get to my own room, it's blissfully silent – no pounding music, no drunken snores. I don't bother to get out of my clothes, because after playing babysitter for Seth all night, I'm beat. So I drop onto the bed, and it feels a little strange. I'm not used to sleeping without a warm little body next to me, burrowing into my chest and hogging all the covers. Sure, I'd done it all through college, but it's definitely not my preferred sleeping method. As much as I love silence, I'd rather be falling asleep to the steady sound of her breathing, the occasional French one-liner mumbled in her sleep.

Oh well, we can't have everything.

* * *

I stumble into my room, falling gratefully onto the bed. It's three in the morning, and we're _just_ getting in from our night out. I'm thankful that I planned a more sedate evening tomorrow – a spa day with just Summer, Kirsten, Julie, Kaitlin and I. Hopefully I won't be _too_ hung over.

_

* * *

_

Thus ends day one.

_Day two? __Drunk__ Ryan, baby._

_Review!_


	2. Day 2

_Ok, so I'm slightly worried that people have the wrong impression… I keep getting reviews saying that drunk Ryan is going to be funny… um… not so much funny, as really, really dirty… I guess I forgot to mention that last chapter. This story is rated 'M' for a very good reason, and this chapter proves it. So please be very aware that this is a very, very, dirty story.__ With very bad language… oh my…_

_Enjoy!_

_Also, this is for Avecia, who wouldn't leave me alone... but mostly it's cause she said she had a bad day, so I hope it gets better!_

* * *

"BANG!" Bullit shouts and I wince a little because I'm standing _right freaking next to him_. Seth winces even more because he's still a little hung over from last night. Bullit turns to me, clapping me on the shoulder, and I try to smile at him. It's not like he _needs_ anymore money, so him winning a bunch from craps isn't that big of a deal. "Wanna try, Ryan?" he elongates my name in a way that is completely southern, and I shake my head no. You can't count dice rolls, I think, eyes flicking over to the poker tables. I resist the urge, because it's a little scary, how much my hands are itching to pick up those cards. It's scary, because there's a little part of me that is _sure_ I can beat all the odds, make a lot of money. I flash back to my mom on Casino Night, all those years ago, and how she was just _sure_ she could win.

Seth seems to catch all this – the guy's surprisingly astute when he wants to be – and he moves a little closer to me. "With great power comes great responsibility," he whispers, and all my previous respect for his intelligence disappears. I know he's referring to my uncanny ability to count cards, but _come on_. I'm suddenly very glad I get to pass him off to Summer full-time in two weeks.

* * *

I moan happily as the woman rubs the muscles in my back with some sweet smelling lotion. This feels fantastic, and I'm glad I'm not completely hung over. Of course, the constant pampering is probably helping a lot. Spa day was a fantastic idea. I hear Summer groan in agreement, and I open my eyes slightly to smile at her from across the tables. Kirsten is on my other side, Julie and Kaitlin beyond Summer to the right. I turn my head to look at Kirsten, and a smile tugs at my lips. Part of the reason I chose this activity was because I knew she'd enjoy it. No drinking, no loud music. Perfect for her – I wish I could be as classy and sedate as she is.

She smiles back at me, and I want to cry. I hate being petty – and I am sometimes – so I'd never admit it out loud, but I'm jealous of Summer. She's marrying Seth, and she gets to really be a part of this amazing family. Hell, even _Julie_ in her own twisted way is related – first by marrying Caleb Nichol, then by having Frank's baby. That makes her Kirsten's ex-step-mother and Ryan's… baby-mama in law… or something… either way, she's a part of the family, and by relation, so is Kaitlin. And that leaves me. Yes, I'm _dating_ Ryan, but I'm not _related_. And I don't even have all these wonderful, pre-adulthood memories of the family.

I contemplate running down to Vegas, getting Ryan drunk, and getting married to him by a fat, fake, Elvis-impersonator, just so I can be a part of the Cohen's happy existence.

* * *

"Hey," Sandy sits down next to me on the couch, and I shift uncomfortably. It's really, _really_, painfully awkward to be at a strip club with your father. It's even worse when you make the 'father' part plural, because Frank's sitting on another couch, chatting with the Bullit.

"Hey," I mumble back, trying to keep my eyes from tracking the pretty much naked waitress that walks in front of me. Sandy chuckles.

"I heard Taylor gave you leave to have fun," he sits back, sipping a beer, and I could literally die of embarrassment. "Why don't you take a break from Seth-watch, and relax a little?" I begin to protest, but stop, because it _would_ be nice to not have to watch Seth for a night. So I nod, promising my father – _dear Lord_ – to have fun with the pretty strippers. I'm unbelievably thankful when he gets up and goes to sit with Seth, who's already drunk and feeling up a perky brunette that looks suspiciously like Summer.

I motion to a waitress - who quickly gets me a seven and seven - conveniently ignoring the fact that my father's drinking the same thing. I gulp it down, wincing as the whisky tears at my throat, and _damn_ I forgot how good this feels. The waitress brings me another one – _did I order another one?_ – and I down that one too. I'm on my third when a pair of legs makes me look up at the stripper standing in front of me. She's blonde – _I think, maybe dark blonde?_ – and a little too tan for my tastes, but she's not wearing that much, so it's cool. She raises her eyebrow at me, and I nod, taking a slower sip of the highball, enjoying the cold liquid.

She moves her hips slowly – it's quite nice – straddling my legs on the couch. Her hands go to the back of the couch on either side of my shoulders, bracing herself, and she begins to move her body in ways I can't really explain. I hear her say something, I'm not exactly sure what so I don't answer, instead chugging the rest of my drink and flicking my hand at a passing waitress, who goes to retrieve me another. A sick thrill goes through me when the fourth highball is pressed into my hand, but I ignore that – Sandy's here to keep me out of too much trouble. I raise the glass to my lips, and return my gaze to the stripper.

I choke, because for a second I fucking _swore_ it was Taylor, but it's not. The stripper's looking at me funny, and I think she asked me if I was ok. I nod, and she grins – she must think I choked because of her dance, and I let her think that. I take another drink, and try to relax, but truth be told, I'm a little shaken up, because I could've sworn…

* * *

"Thanks for today," Kirsten kisses me on the cheek before getting into her car. Julie hugs me, and Kaitlin mutters something about 'not enough alcohol and naked boys'. Summer and I get into her car, and head to our apartment. It's a little sad – two weeks from now, she won't be my roommate anymore. She'll be Seth's. Somehow, Ryan and I have avoided the talk about what we're going to do when our roommates leave. We might need to figure that out, considering Ryan's going to be the one without an apartment – Summer's moving in with Seth after the wedding. They told him he could stay there as long as he needed, but it'll probably get weird.

I think of living with Ryan, and it makes my insides twist up – a feeling I get whenever I think about him, really. But this twisting is different – it's the same one I got when he first kissed me, when he first called me his girlfriend, when he first told me he loved me.

When we get home, I decide to turn in – even though it's barely 8. I didn't plan any bachelorette event tomorrow because let's face it, Sunday is a holy day – no sinning allowed -, but we really need to go over some last minute wedding details with Todd, so it's going to be a long day anyway.

* * *

I stumble into my room, and I _know_ I'm drunk. I haven't been drunk in years, not since Chino. Sure, there were a few times in college where I would get tipsy, but not like this. I'm not exactly sure how many seven and sevens I downed, but by the end of the night the stripper on my lap _was_ Taylor, and I'd invited her back to my hotel room. I was pissed as hell when Sandy took Taylor away from me, telling her that my invitation wasn't real. I'd protested quite loudly, but for some reason Taylor had shrugged and stayed in the strip club.

"Get some sleep," Sandy tells me after he's sure I'm safely in my room, and he leaves. I contemplate going to find Taylor, but then it hits me that it probably wasn't her. She didn't smell right. She smelled… I don't know, but it wasn't Taylor. I love the way Taylor smells, usually a combination of peaches and cream, although I like her best when she smells like sex.

My knees hit the hotel bed, and I fall onto it – not really on purpose, but I'm too tired to get up again. I figure I slept in my clothes last night, I might as well do it again, right? Save me the hassle of getting up. My head is still pleasantly reeling from the alcohol, and I know the only thing keeping me awake is that good old Atwood gene of high tolerance. So instead of passing out into that wonderful oblivion of unconsciousness, I'm left to lie here and deal with a lot of alcohol combined with a couple hours of lap dances and the vision of Taylor smelling like sex in my head.

* * *

I groan, hand knocking the clock off my beside table as I grope for my phone. "Hello?" I croak into the mouthpiece after finally getting it and flipping it open. My head is foggy with sleep, and I don't even bother opening my eyes for this. It's probably Summer, freaking out about getting married. I have replies on the tip of my tongue – _you love him, it's too late to back out now, __everything's already paid for, __it's _Seth_ for God's sake, __you're destined for each other_.

"Taylor." The voice is slurred, and most definitely not Summer's, because it's male.

"Ryan?" I ask after a slight pause. He sounds almost like he does when he's just waking up or falling asleep, but not quite. He moans loudly over the line, and my eyes fly open. I sit up swiftly, fully awake and alert now. "Are you ok? Are you hurt? Ryan?"

"Taylor," he moans again, breathing heavily, "why aren't you here?"

"What?" I ask in confusion. I wasn't supposed to be in Vegas, he knew that. "Ryan-"

"Why aren't you here?" he repeats loudly, cutting me off. "I want you here."

"Ryan, are you ok?" I ask, trying to keep my tone calm. All I can do is picture him, bleeding, sick, dying in a ditch on the side of the road. I get out of bed, fumbling around in the dark for my purse. My brain is going too fast for my body. I need clothes, then purse and keys, then I can go. But when he groans again, I decide to just wear my pajamas, and my hand finds my purse on the chair in the corner of my room. "Ryan, where are you? Are you ok?"

"God I want you here," his breath is ragged in my ear. "I wanna fuck you so bad." I pause, heart beating a mile a minute. What?

"What?" my voice squeaks, my hand still frozen inside my purse, clutching my car keys tightly.

"I wanna fuck you so hard," he mumbles, and then it hits me.

"You're drunk," I accuse breathlessly, letting go of my keys and straightening up. "You asshole," I hiss, "you had me so worried!"

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he continues on, ignoring my anger. And I would be angry – really, I would, my pride tries to argue – if his voice weren't so low, and scratchy, and _hot_. "Taylor…"

* * *

Hearing her voice makes me hard, and my hand reaches down to fumble with the button of my jeans. "You're drunk!" she breathes into my ear and I finally have the zipper down, "you asshole, you had me so worried," I push my boxers down just far enough so that I'm blessedly _free_.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," I tell her, needing her to know how much I fucking _want_ her. "Taylor, _Jesus_ I wish you were here." Images flood my mind of all the things I would do to her if she were here right now, "I would fuck you so hard, on your fucking hands and knees," and I hear her gasp, and suddenly she's _here_.

"Ryan," she moans at me, getting on the bed, and I'm _so fucking hard_.

Her hand wraps around me, and my hips buck wildly, a loud grunt tearing from my throat. I hear her moan again, and I look down to see her hand drift to the apex of her legs. I want to fuck her so bad, and I tell her that.

* * *

"God Taylor," he breathes, and I whimper. "I wish you were here. I would fuck you so hard, on your fucking hands and knees." Another moan fills my ear, and I can practically _see_ him fisting his cock, jerking off to the thought of me. Desire floods through me, making me so weak that my trembling legs give out, and I slide down the wall, which I'd previously backed up against.

"Ryan," I run my hand down my stomach, pushing it inside my pajama bottoms to rub against the silky fabric of my panties.

"Fuck yeah," he growls out, "I wish I could fuck your wet, hot cunt," I slip my hand inside the fabric, pressing a tentative finger to my clit. I cry out in sheer ecstasy as a bolt of white-hot lightening shoots out from the bundle of nerves, and I'm distantly surprised at how fucking _turned on_ I am.

"I'm so wet, Ryan," I almost _sob_ into the receiver, pressing my thumb against my clit hard as I insert two fingers inside myself. It doesn't take much to imagine that it's _Ryan's_ fingers inside of me, fucking me, getting me off.

"Slut," he grunts, "fucking slut, getting off to this." I moan in agreement, trying to reach that spot that he never seems to have trouble finding. "You're so hot," he groans, and I wonder what he's picturing me doing. "So fucking hot." I nod vigorously, rubbing my clit frantically at the thought, until I realize he can't see me.

"Yes," I tell him, hips bucking as a wave of pleasure crashes through me. _Oh God, I'm coming._

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he continues, voice getting deeper as I cry out, "I'm gonna fuck your mouth… gonna get you on your knees… love it when you suck me off…" I can hear him reaching that point, the pre-stages of his orgasm - I know the sound well – and it makes me spasm again around my fingers.

"Ryan, I'm coming!" I call desperately, body arching away from the wall on which I'm leaning. I'm shaking uncontrollably, and I feel like I'm falling, my head spinning, and I'm vaguely aware of him mumbling things on the other end of the line.

* * *

"Ryan," she shouts, arching her body but somehow keeping her fist wrapped tight around me, "I'm coming!"

I love watching her orgasm, it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. It's like some switch flips in her head, and she's no longer control-freak-Taylor, she's sex-freak-Taylor, and that's a completely different animal.

"That's my girl, come for me," I order, and she tightens her hand around my cock, and I feel the desperate clenching in my abdomen – a sure sign that I'm about to lose it. My _entire fucking body _tightens, and I come, hard, moaning into the phone – _why is there a phone in my hand?_ – my lower body lifting completely off the bed. When I finally come down, I'm totally spent, and for some reason Taylor's looking a little hazy. "Love you," I murmur, eyes drooping as the combination of alcohol and orgasm starts to get to me. Vaguely I feel myself shut my cell phone, and then I'm out.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I sat there in stunned silence, phone still open in my hand, body shaking from that mind-blowing orgasm.

What the _hell_ was that?

_

* * *

_

Next up is guilty, hung over, embarrassed, Ryan.

_Review._


	3. Day 3

_Ok, a lot of you had questions from the last chapter (especially about the '__and suddenly she's _here_ line). I really wanted to reply to the reviews, but I feel like this chapter answers everything. It's a little more sedate than Day 2… ahem… so I hope you guys won't be too disappointed._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"What's wrong?" Summer asks, looking up at me as I rub the back of my neck for the tenth time.

"Nothing," I reply hastily, "just slept funny, that's all." I don't tell her that I slept funny because I'd fallen asleep against the wall after Ryan and my… phone sex? _Oh good Lord_. Except now that I think about it, it wasn't even phone sex, because all it encompassed was getting off to Ryan telling me how much he wanted me. And if it _could_ be considered phone sex, then it was definitely the phone sex equivalent of a quick, dirty fuck against the wall.

Luckily Summer looks down at the table again, not seeing me go off into my thoughts.

I'd tried all through college to get Ryan to open up over the phone. I mean _really_ tried. But he'd always said it would be weird and what if someone were listening in? I guess all it takes is alcohol for him to be more open about it.

And then I realize this is why he doesn't drink, except for the occasional beer or two. I always assumed it was because he didn't want to end up an alcoholic, considering his biological parents' (and Kirsten's) pasts. But it never occurred to me that Ryan might not drink because he becomes some... out of control sexual deviant. I bite my lip as my blood pumps harder in my veins at the thought. It's not that Ryan's repressed in bed or anything; far from it. He's _quite_ open to suggestion, and as he put it, he'll 'try anything once'. But he is _always_ in control of himself.

Not last night.

* * *

Alcohol fucking sucks.

_I'm never drinking again_, I swear, stumbling into the bathroom and fumbling with the knob of the shower. I set it to some temperature, I'm not really sure what cause my eyes aren't exactly open, and I step into the stall. It's then that I realize the water is freezing, and that I'm still wearing a shirt. Apparently I didn't see the need to get undressed last night… although where the hell were my pants? And my boxers for that matter? It doesn't matter, because the cold water is clearing my head somewhat, and I realize I'm God-awful thirsty. So I tilt my head up and open my mouth wide, choking a little as the shower water hits the back of my throat and goes in my nose.

It's not until I've made my way back to the bed, dripping water all over the hotel room carpet, and I see the stain on the sheets, that I remember what happened last night.

_Fuck_.

It comes back to me in small bursts, but I remember calling Taylor, and having a _very_ dirty conversation with her… I think I might have even hallucinated that she was here, because I can remember watching her come. Guilt makes my head throb harder, and I crawl into bed, dragging the covers over my head.

* * *

"So Taylor, I heard you crashed pretty early last night," Kaitlin comments, trying to turn her head to look at the mirror. The woman pinning her dress sighs in frustration at the movement.

I blush furiously, because, even though Kaitlin has _no_ idea what happened, I can't help but remember the rough tone of his voice, the slurred edge to it as he spoke. "Well, I knew we'd be out doing lots of errands today," I say flippantly, trying to cover. Kaitlin rolls her eyes at me, muttering something about being a sissy, but I really don't care, because it's Kaitlin, and I know that beneath all her bravado is a really sweet girl who's been hurt one too many times. The woman altering my dress turns me around, and I get a better view of the girl.

She's changed since that year I spent living in her house. She doesn't wear all that heavy eye make-up anymore, and she's stopped wearing black all the time. And despite her preference for hard liquor and harder men, she's given up the drugs, and she's actually very responsible about her misbehaviors. And she's an amazing big sister. One day I called her on it, teasingly, and it broke my heart when she told me she wanted to be the big sister she never had. I told her that Summer and I would _always_ be her sisters, but she had told me it wasn't the same. She wanted her new brother to grow up knowing he was loved. Not like he had a chance of forgetting, what with Julie and Frank being incredibly overbearing (and Bullit, who had decided he was the god-father, bought the little guy a new toy every time he came to visit).

"Have you heard from Ryan?" Summer looks up from her magazine at me, trying not to look worried.

"He called last night," I manage, fighting the rising blush. Damn it, that phone call has me acting like some innocent teenager again. "Why?"

"Oh… nothing," she looks down at her magazine again, and Kaitlin and I exchange a glance.

"Hasn't Seth called?" Kaitlin asks, always incessantly curious.

"He called yesterday morning and today around 10, but… I dunno, he's sounded weird both times," she sighed, dropping the tough-girl act. "Did Atwood say anything?" I smile a little at how she drops back into using his last name when she gets upset.

"No… it didn't come up," I tell her, hoping she won't ask what we _did_ talk about.

"What _did_ you talk about?" Damn Kaitlin.

"Oh, just his night," I reply airily, shrugging.

"Is he having fun with the strippers?" Summer mutters angrily, and I laugh.

"He said I was much prettier than the strippers," I smile. It's not a lie, really. He said he couldn't stop thinking about me, and if there were strippers around, surely that meant he thought I was prettier than them. Ryan isn't good with words, so sometimes he needs a translator. I happen to be very good with languages, and now I know five: English, French, Spanish, Korean, and Monosyllabic-Ryan-Atwood. Very few people are fluent in the last one, and I feel honored to know it so well.

"He would've said something if Seth was in trouble," Kaitlin says softly, and I fall in love with her just a little bit more. Summer looks grateful for the gesture as well, and she relaxes, putting down her magazine and looking at us appraisingly.

"You guys look good," she muses, getting up to walk around us. "I mean, I'll look better, but you two look good." We smile, and I turn to look at myself in the mirror. Kaitlin and I look awesome, but I know there's no way we're eclipsing Summer in her wedding dress.

She's gorgeous.

* * *

I drop into the chair next to Frank, and Seth groans hello to me from across the table. I nod in response, and for once, he seems completely cool with my lack of talking. I remember that he's just as hung over as I am.

"Morning, boozy," Sandy raises one of his eyebrows at me reproachfully. _Good Lord, his eyebrows are like giant caterpillars_. Wait, wasn't _he_ the one who told me to enjoy myself? I glare at him back, and he chuckles, totally getting the look. "I told you to have fun, not get so drunk you invite your new stripper friend 'Taylor' up to your room to play 'French whore'." His other caterpillar climbs up to join the first, and three pairs of eyes turn to look at me.

"Dude," Seth shakes his head at me, a grin replacing the pain on his face as he seems to forget about his giant headache.

"'French whore'?" Bullit roars with a laugh, and the other diners turn to look at us with looks of horror and amusement. I groan in embarrassment and let my head drop onto the cold wood of the table, but it's not over quite yet. "That girl would look damn fine in a French maid outfit," Bullit twists the knife, "you should think about investing in one. You know, short skirt, apron, feather duster?"

I don't tell him she already owns one.

* * *

"Do you have something to wear to the rehearsal dinner?" Summer is _freaking out_, and I have no idea why. She's been getting worse and worse with the panic as the wedding gets closer.

"Yeah, I was thinking I could wear that red dress I bought last month…" I trail off as her eyes bug out.

"Red? You can't wear red!" She begins to pace, hyperventilating. "Todd said I should have a theme, and red will totally clash!"

"Ok, Summer," I stand up, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her a little. "First of all, you never told me there was a theme, and second, what _is_ the theme so I can plan accordingly."

"The environment," Summer relaxes, flipping back into her sane mode. "I'm going to use every opportunity I can to shove it down people's throats. It's only cause I made a stupid deal with Seth that the wedding itself isn't environment-themed."

I giggle, "what deal?"

"I wouldn't try to make it all G.E.O.R.G.E.-like, and he wouldn't try to get me to come down the aisle to the Star Wars theme."

"Ok," I throw my arm around her shoulder and we walk into my room, "I have a couple dresses that fit, so why don't you go through my closet and pick out the one you want me to wear?" She looks up at me and smiles, an evil expression coming over her features.

* * *

"Hey baby," some girl calls to us and I wonder if every girl in Vegas greets people like that. I try to ignore her, but she trails after us, "don't you guys wanna have some _fun_?" We're walking down the strip, and she's quite obviously a hooker.

"No, thank you," I call back politely and she doesn't seem to get the hint.

"Aw, come on…" she coos.

"No! Not again!" Seth cries, pointing his finger at her, "you won't get my money this time!" She looks at us like we're crazy – and maybe Seth actually is – but it works, and she leaves. "So have you called Taylor?" Seth turns and starts talking like the whole prostitute thing didn't just happen. I blush.

"Yeah, I called last night."

"What did you tell her?" the look in his eyes is desperate, and I realize he just wants to make sure I didn't tell Taylor about him getting completely smashed the past two nights. I'm also pretty sure he doesn't want me to tell her about the whole groping a stripper thing.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe," I'm glad he didn't see my discomfort. "She said everything's fine at home."

I'm such a liar. I'm a bad, bad man. _It sounded like she enjoyed it_, the evil voice in my head says, the one that sounds just a little too much like Trey for my comfort. Maybe I should call her tonight and apologize… hopefully she'll forgive me. If not, when I get home I'll just have to get on my knees and… 'beg'. She loves it when I beg, it makes her scream. _God, I have such a dirty mind_.

We reach the hotel, and I'm thankful, because I very much need to get away from Seth. Shutting the door to my room, I take my cell phone out of my pocket, wondering if I should call. Then I think about hearing her voice, and I know I won't be able to resist the urge to say bad things to her. Sometimes I wonder how she does this to me.

It's not like I didn't think about sex a lot before her, I mean, I'm only male. _Of_ _course_ I thought about sex, all the time. I remember when I first came to Newport and met Marissa. My first thought was that she was hot, and I wondered what she'd be like in bed. Two and a half years later I got to find out: eh. I mean, it wasn't like it wasn't good, and she was really hot, but she was really vanilla, wanting it all slow and lovey. The second girl in Newport I'd wanted was Gabrielle – although I'd hardly call her a girl. She'd been hot as hell, and totally into me, but Marissa had caught us and that was the end of the older woman fantasy. I remember thinking Lindsay was sexy in a down-to-earth bookworm-ish kind of way, but every time I thought about doing her, I felt guilty. It only got worse after I found out about the whole Caleb-illegitimate-daughter thing. Sadie had been a rebound, and the chick Chloe even more so. All in all, Newport, for all of its scantily clad women, provided very little in the way of hot sex. Then I found Taylor.

I remember the first time I saw Taylor Townsend, back in high school, back when she still wore those preppy sweater sets and plaid skirts. It was only a couple weeks into my first year at Harbor, about two or three months after I first came to Newport, so I guess I was still in Chino mode, I don't know, but I remember thinking she was fucking hot. She'd been talking to some guy, but I'd walked past her, and she'd given me this _look_ and I remember thinking I should invite her into the nearest empty classroom so I could bend her over a desk or something. Of course, I'd been totally strung up on Marissa, so nothing ever came of it.

I didn't think about her for pretty much two years. If I passed her in the hall, there might have been a chance I'd thought '_she's hot'_, but nothing past that. You know, looking back? Marissa really screwed up my game in high school, she'd had me totally hooked. So maybe it's only fitting that the only reason Taylor Townsend popped up on my radar again was because of her drama. Senior year I'd had to befriend her to get Marissa back into Harbor, and I was secretly glad. Post-Marissa I'd been left with very little in the way of jerk-off fodder. Seriously, I'd run the whole gamut on girls.

I'd tried thinking of Marissa, but I only got pissed. I tried thinking of Theresa, but I felt guilty. Thinking of Lindsay made me want to take a steaming hot shower to cleanse myself because she was _Kirsten's sister_, and because of that Hailey was out, too (don't judge me, she was hot). Summer had popped up in my head, but _no_. I was sex-starved, but with no one to get off to, when _she_ came along. Thinking of Taylor on her knees got me hard and it got me off. So yes, she was _quite_ a welcome addition as a 'friend'.

When I finally got together with Taylor after high school, I couldn't believe how well we meshed. At first I'd thought of her as simply a way to distract myself, but she'd turned out to be the best thing to happen to me since the Cohens took me in. It didn't hurt that Taylor Townsend had just the right amount of kink to fit me perfectly. Trey always did say I was a freak.

Jesus, I need to call her.

* * *

My eyes fly open, heart pounding wildly as my cell phone begins to ring. My hand is shaking as I pick it up, seeing Ryan's name on the display. "Hello?" I'm a little ashamed at how nervous I sound.

"Taylor," his voice is low and rough; it's his horny voice.

"Calling to say you miss me?" I ask breathlessly, trying not to sound desperate.

"You should come down to Vegas," he tells me, and I notice that he's not drunk this time. Damn.

I sigh wearily, disappointed about not getting phone sex tonight, "you know I can't, Ryan. It's Summer's bachelorette week. I have things planned."

"So?" his voice is almost a whine, "bring everyone down with you. As long as I get you to myself for a few hours." I almost agree to the plan as my head fills with thoughts of spending _hours_ alone with Ryan, in our own hotel room in Vegas. _God, what I would do to that boy_. But then duty calls me back, and I set my shoulders resolutely.

"I can't." I try to make myself sound stern, because, really, if he tries to convince me some more, I'll probably end up saying yes. I change the subject. "Hey, is Seth ok, cause Summer's a little worried…"

I hear Ryan sigh on the other end of the line – he's disappointed I won't come down – but he takes the topic switch. "Yeah, he's fine. Tell Summer she has absolutely nothing to worry about."

There's an awkward pause, and I know we're both thinking of last night, but he's not drunk so I know he won't bring it up. "Um… well, it's kind of late, so I should get some sleep…" I begin lamely, and he mumbles some agreement. We exchange quick 'goodnights' and hang up.

Well that was disappointing.

* * *

I hang up the phone, wishing I had never called at all. Her voice does funny things to me. Ok, maybe not so much with the funny, seeing as how I'm incredibly turned on with only my hand and my pedestrian fantasies to get me through the night. Maybe I should load up on alcohol and give her a call back…

Instead I flop backwards onto the bed, trying to decide on which fantasy I'd use first. My eyes close, and it seems my reminiscing has affected me, because my fantasy Taylor is in a classroom, wearing one of those preppy sweater sets and a really short skirt. _I'm such a bad man_, I think, because I'm fucking 25, and the Taylor in my head looks like she did when she was 18. She bends over the desk, looking at me innocently over her shoulder, skirt riding up, and I'm such a bad man because my hand slips into my pants.

_

* * *

_

Don't kill me.

_And as always, review!_


	4. Day 4

_This chapter got longer than I expected it to, __cause__ I couldn't think of a nice place to end it. Ah well. This is pretty much just a filler chapter, because there's very little RT interaction. Sorry!_

_Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

I wake up cranky, because getting myself off last night wasn't exactly the same without his voice egging me on, so I'm still a little unsatisfied.

Luckily Summer doesn't notice my bad mood, because she's still trying to find out what I have planned for today. The thought cheers me up a little – tonight is gonna be _awesome_. She glares at me, knowing I won't tell her until the actual event, and goes back to eating her eggs. I make myself some French toast, pouring a massive amount of maple syrup on it, because I really need the sugar rush.

My cell phone rings, and I smile at the display. "Hey, Kaitlin," I greet cheerfully, my co-conspirator's voice automatically making me brighten up. Summer quirks an eyebrow – I think she knows Kaitlin's in on the plan – and I lift my own eyebrow in response.

"Ok, so Kirsten and my mom have _no_ idea what's going on. I told them meet us at Cesar at eight."

"Sounds good," I tell her, smiling pleasantly at Summer, who's obviously trying to overhear this.

"See you then."

"You bet!"

_Screw Ryan_, I think, happiness coursing through my veins. He can be as repressed as he wants, I'm not going to let it ruin my day.

* * *

"So what's on the agenda for today?" Seth asks from the passenger's seat. "Gambling? Alcohol? Strippers? Maybe some breakdance fights with the local gangs?" He makes some motion that I assume is supposed to be dancing, "you know," he continues, "a little poppin' and lockin'?"

I swear, sometimes I could punch him right in the face. Instead, I ignore his idiocy to answer the first question. "We're going golfing."

He stops mid-pop-lock, and stares open-mouthed at me. "_Golfing?_" I shrug.

"Bullit loves golfing, so does Sandy. And so do you, as I recall. Something about an old Jewish man?" I make a right into the upscale course and spot Bullit's car already there.

"Yeah, but it's my bachelor party. Golf doesn't exactly scream '_these are__ my last days of freedom'."_

"Like you ever had freedom with Summer," I mutter, shutting off the engine and stepping out of the car. Seth follows me, still pouting. "Plus, I think we need a break from the alcohol." We both understand that '_we need a break_' means '_you need a break, because you've been getting a little too handsy with the strippers'_.

"Hey kiddo," Sandy calls across the green. "You ready to be thoroughly beaten?" I'm really glad when Seth gets offended, going off to argue with his father – they're way too much alike. He seems to be into this all the sudden, and that means less whining.

"I can't golf for my life," Frank whispers to me, and I try to smile at him. Neither can I.

I guess it's just one more thing to add to the growing list of Atwood traits.

* * *

"Ok," I begin, grin permanently etched on my face. Kaitlin's looking smug next to me, and Summer, Kirsten, and Julie are all waiting with folded arms for the plan. "Tonight's challenge – specially coordinated by Miss Kaitlin and I – is a scavenger hunt!"

"You mean like looking for stuff?" Summer scrunches up her face, and Julie looks a little disappointed.

"No," Kaitlin cuts in, smirk tugging at her mouth, "like there's a list of things to do, and you have to complete them by the end of the night." Julie begins to grin, and even Kirsten covers a smile at the horrified look that takes over Summer's face.

"Just me?" she asks, looking at me angrily.

"Of course not, silly," I tell her, linking my arm with hers. "We all have to help."

"I guess," Summer relents, taking the sheet of paper from Kaitlin. "Ok, number one…" she looks up at me, eyes wide, "'do a body shot off a random guy'. I am not…"

"Hey guy!" Kaitlin grabs a passing boy's arm, "my friend wants to do a body shot off you."

I giggle as Summer turns bright red. The random guy turns even redder, but he doesn't protest. I slide my cell phone out of my purse, making sure Summer can't see it.

* * *

"I forgot how nice golfing at sunset was," Sandy remarks, and I sigh, reminding myself that I'm doing this for the Cohens and Bullit. Frank looks just as bored as I am – we both gave up trying to actually play long ago.

"So how's Julie?" I ask as we trail behind the other three to the next hole.

"She's good," he tells me, a smile coming over his face. I wonder if I look that pathetic when I talk about Taylor. "Although," he continues on, smile getting wider, "I don't even _want_ to know what she's doing right now."

* * *

We see Julie emerge from the bathroom with a smug smile, and we all cheer. She holds up the red fabric proudly, making her way over to us.

"You can check number 6 off," she tells us, shoving the guy's boxers into her purse.

"I can't believe you made that guy give you his underwear," Kaitlin shakes her head proudly.

"Oh, I've still got it in me," Julie nudges Kirsten, who shakes her head, laughing.

"Ok," Kirsten grabs the paper. "Number 7, 'have a guy give you a condom'."

"Go Kirsten!" I giggle, and the woman sets her shoulders resolutely, finding a college boy – _she's so evil_ – to prey upon.

"Oh," she turns back to us with a warning look, "no one tells Sandy about this."

I grin, because let's face it, we've all been snapping pictures the whole time, and there's _no way_ the boys aren't finding out about this.

* * *

I hear a noise from my pocket, and I grab the cell phone out, flipping it open. Taylor just sent me a picture, and I'm not sure I want to see, since her message says '_are you having fun at YOUR party?'_ I decide to risk it, and open the picture.

"Holy-" I break off the sentence as the others look at me curiously.

"What's up?" Seth asks, and he's probably the last person in the world I want to see this.

"Nothing, man," I snap my phone shut.

"Oooh," Bullit grins, grabbing my cell phone from me. "A naughty little message from the ball and chain?" He opens my phone and hits a few buttons, breaking into laughter as I shut my eyes. "I think this is for you," he hands the phone to Seth.

I watch my brother's eyes widen, Sandy and Frank looking over his shoulder.

"What is Summer doing?" Sandy begins in horror.

"It's called a 'body shot'," Frank manages to get my cell phone away from Seth, closing it and handing it back to me.

"Jesus and Moses," Seth whispers, "my fiancée's turned into Julie Cooper…"

"Hey…" Frank tries to protest, but he's drowned out by our laughter.

* * *

"Hey," Kaitlin smiles seductively, placing her hand lightly on the boy's arm. His face breaks out into a goofy grin, and his friends begin to laugh like idiots. The boy raises his glass to his lips, trying to look cool while sipping his beer. She licks her lips before continuing, "would you like an orgasm?"

He chokes, and we try to suppress our giggles, because we're trying to make it look like we're not watching.

"What?" the boy asks in confusion as his friends hit him.

She gives him her best '_duh'_ look, "I asked if you wanted an orgasm?" He opens and closes his mouth a few times, gaping, before nodding dumbly. She smiles brightly at him.

"Hey bartender! Can I get two orgasms over here?"

The bartender – who we have befriended (after he let me draw a pretty tattoo on his bicep) – has the drinks ready, giving them to Kaitlin, who in turn slides one to the bewildered boy.

"Cheers!" she downs the shooter, winking at the boy before walking back to us.

"I'm so proud," Julie sighs, draping her arm around her daughter's shoulder.

"I think you're the only mom in the history of ever to say that about her daughter talking to strangers about orgasms and downing shots." Kaitlin shakes her head in mock sadness, and we all laugh because we're all a little drunk. Except Kirsten, who laughs anyway, because it's _Julie_.

* * *

We're sitting in the restaurant, staring at our cell phones, barely touching our food. There's a noise, and we all jump, looking around wildly, and it's Sandy's that's going off this time. He opens it warily, looking almost relieved before handing it to me.

That's the protocol with this. First the person who gets the message looks at the picture, then the person it was obviously meant for, then the rest of the group. And because he's giving it to me first, I know it's Taylor. _Oh God_.

I make myself look, and sigh in relief. She's standing next to some guy who looks like a bartender, pointing at his arm with a marker. The guy's grinning at her – giving her that familiar look of '_you're insane'_ – and on his arm is a hastily drawn tattoo. I take a closer look and shake my head, because it says '_SS 4ever.'_ And beneath that '_ILRA'_. I know from her blogging that it's her personal message to me: _'I Love Ryan Atwood'_.

I hand the phone around, and they all glare at me because I didn't get something mightily embarrassing. First there was Summer's body shot, then Julie smugly holding up a pair of boxers that were _not_ Franks, then _Kirsten_ taking a condom from an obviously uncomfortable college student, and finally one of Kaitlin throwing back a shot with some boy looking at her, eyes bugging out of his head.

* * *

"Oh, I'm so glad my phone has a video recorder," I hear Julie whisper to Kirsten, and I can't help but feel my heart rate pick up, knowing Ryan will be seeing this. I hope he enjoys it.

Summer giggles at me drunkenly, waving dollars bills in my direction. "Come on, Townsend!" she calls, "I want my show!" I throw her a seductive look, grinning and walking over to where she's slouched on the cushions of the sofa.

* * *

"Uh oh," Frank mutters. "It's a video…" we all glance around nervously, waiting for him to watch. It doesn't bode well that he snaps the phone shut, face going red. "This is for you and Seth," he tells me, handing me the phone. Seth scoots closer to me and I open the phone warily, finding the message and pressing play.

_Holy shit._

"Jesus and Moses," Seth whispers reverently next to me, but I'm not really paying attention because it's all focused on the little screen.

They're obviously at a strip club, and Summer's reclining on a couch, and I watch as Taylor walks over to her, swaying her hips. She gets on Summer's lap and starts giving the brunette a dance, the smaller girl shoving bills into my girlfriend's shirt. I completely forget how to breathe as I watch Taylor's hips sway, Seth's girlfriend smiling up at her drunkenly.

The video ends after only a minute or so, but Seth and I continue to stare at the little device, not sure how to process it. "Oh my God," I hear Seth mutter, taking a shuddering breath, and I don't blame him. Suddenly I'm finding it hard to focus, and my jeans are getting a little restricting right about now.

"I don't think I need to see that," Sandy says off our reactions, and I'm eternally grateful. It's one thing for Frank to have seen it, but Sandy's known Summer and Taylor longer – he thinks of them as daughters. Bullit doesn't seem to have the same dilemma, because he grabs the phone from me, settling back in his chair with a grin to watch.

* * *

"Oh my God!" Summer giggles, and I fall onto the couch next to her, breaking into laughter as well. "Seth's gonna lose it…" we begin to laugh harder – it's funny, because it's true.

I wish I could see their reactions – Ryan's is sure to be priceless. I know all about his so-called 'pedestrian fantasies' – hell, we've played most of them out. At least the ones he'll tell me about, anyway. I'm betting that if he's fond of girls in wet clothes, then he's probably a fan of the girl-on-girl action. He just won't admit it, because he knows I'd never go for it. _No way_ am I sharing him with anyone else. But it's still fun to tease him...

I gasp as the idea hits me. "Oh my God," I gush, turning to face my best friend, "we should _call_ them!" Her face lights up with glee and we both pull out our cell phones.

* * *

Bullit hits the play button again, and I really want to jump across the table and kill him. That's _my_ girlfriend… dancing on another girl's lap… having bills pushed into her shirt… _dear God_. Seth gives me the puppy dog look, but I can only shrug. It can't be good that our cell phones both go off at the exact same time.

"Taylor," I greet warily, turning from the table slightly so there's less chance of anyone hearing.

"Hey baby," she giggles, and for some reason when she says it, it's not cheesy – it's just fucking hot. "Did you get our video?"

I glance over my shoulder and it looks like Seth is having the exact same conversation. "Yeah," I grunt, voice low. I hear her giggle again and I realize she's probably more than a little tipsy.

"Did you _like_ it?" she breathes, making little jolts of electricity shoot through my stomach. She's being a fucking tease, I realize. She _knows_ I liked it, and she's teasing me, because she knows I can't reach her.

"Yeah." I can't believe the tone of my voice. It's the voice I reserve specifically for times when I'm alone with her. Especially for times when I want her to do things. _Bad_ things. She seems to recognize it as well, because she moans a little, and the only reason I'm not saying something very dirty to her right now is because I'm in public…

"I was thinking of you," she tells me, and it's not exactly _helping_ my situation.

"Taylor," I force out, "not now." She makes a whimpering sound, and I can see her face in my mind – lips pouting, eyes giving me that pleading look I know only too well. "I'm in a _very_ crowded area," I tell her, trying to think of something other than Taylor's lips.

"So am I," she moans again, and I know she must be drunk.

"I'll talk to you later," I say forcefully, trying to make myself sound authoritative.

"Fine," she pouts. "Summer says hi." I shut my eyes as the dial tone blares in my ear.

"Ok," Seth's voice cuts through my thoughts. His voice is just a little too loud, and he's acting all twitchy. "I think we should call it a night."

* * *

"Ryan was using his sexy voice," I inform the group and Kirsten mumbles something like 'oh my God', putting her hands to her face. The rest of them shake their heads – they must be used to me saying stuff like that. Sometimes… little comments just slip out when I'm talking to them. Sometimes when I talk about Ryan I just go into this haze, and I can't really control myself, and I end up telling people exactly what I'm thinking – and usually when I talk about Ryan, I'm thinking very naughty things.

I remember the time he got so angry at me, because I let slip to Julie and Kaitlin about his penchant for playing 80's rock music while we have sex. Of course, it hadn't helped that the two would burst into song every time he was around. And then Kaitlin had gotten _'Pour Some Sugar On Me'_ as a ringtone, playing it constantly when he was around and asking if it was 'getting him in the mood'.

* * *

I drive home, and for once in his life Seth is actually silent through the whole ride. Probably because the only thing we have on our minds is that little video, and that conversation is going to be highly unpleasant if we ever talk about it. Twenty minutes and one very uncomfortable elevator ride later, I'm in my room, and I pull out my cell phone. I have six voicemails. _Fantastic_.

I press 1 on my phone, holding the plastic up to my ear as I kick off my boots. _First message_, the phone lady blares at me.

"_Ryaaan__… guess what song I'm listening to? Remember that one from that band – the one that sounds like a cat? It's still Kaitlin's ringtone, and it makes me think of you… __because of that time, remember? That time- what? No, Kaitlin, I'm not __gonna__ ask him if he's 'in the mood'. No. Go away, I wanna talk to Ryan…"_

There was a beep, and the phone lady asks if I want to delete the message. I don't because I'm thinking this will be a good way to blackmail Taylor later. _Second message_.

"_Kaitlin is so mean! I was talking to you, and she made me stop. She says I'm not allowed to talk on the phone and walk at the same time. She said I kept walking into things, but I don't know what she's talking about, Ryan, because I'm very coordinated, and yes, I may have hit that telephone pole, but I meant to. I just can't help getting distracted when I talk to you. I wish you were here. Or I was in Vegas. Remember how you were talking about spending hours in a hotel room? I really want to do that… Summer wants me to stop talking. I think our cab driver's listening."_

I can't help but grin - drunk Taylor is hilarious. And I'm not deleting that one either.

"_Ryan, it's Summer. I'm calling from Taylor's phone, cause she's __sooooo__ drunk, and I told her she's not allowed to call you anymore. She says you liked our video! Seth liked it, too. Taylor, no. No, I'm not giving you the phone back... I don't care if you want to talk to him... he's not even talking to me. __Ew!__ No I'm not saying that. You two are __diiirty_

They must be drunker than I thought, for Summer to be leaving me a message about the video. She must be drunk to even _make_ the video in the first place. I press the appropriate button for the next message, hoping slightly that it's Taylor, because I kind of want to know what she wanted Summer to say.

"_Hey honey, it's Kirsten. I'm really sorry about tonight; they just got a little out of hand. I hope our scavenger hunt didn't make you all too uncomfortable. I know Kaitlin took a picture of me, but please tell me only Bullit and Sandy saw it… Have a good night. Get some sleep."_

I smile, because sometimes she's just so _Kirsten_. She never has to know that – yes – I did see the picture of her. I delete that message, because there's no blackmail potential in it. Next message.

_Babyyyy__, I love you!__ I miss you so much!__ Why aren't you answering your phone? I wanna talk to you…_

Alright, short message. Next.

_"Pour some sugar on __meeeee__, in the name of love! Pour some sugar on me, come on fire me __upppp__! I'm hot, sticky sweet! __From my head, to my feet!"_

I flip my phone shut, reminding myself to kill Kaitlin when I get home. I told her once that I'd always be her big brother, but I never expected her to take this 'annoying little sister' gig so seriously. She gets it from Julie – who, of course, was singing backup over the phone.

Then I remember Taylor's messages, and that video, and I decide to call her.

* * *

I snuggle deep into my pillow, and pretty music starts to play in my head. I'm half asleep, and having a wonderful dream about Ryan, and we're listening to this song. In the back of my mind I realize it's the same song as my ringtone. Huh... weird.

* * *

I sigh and hang up. She must've passed out or something, because she's not answering. Maybe it's a good thing, because I'm not exactly sure what I would've said to her anyway.

_

* * *

_

Review!


	5. Day 5

_So this chapter isn't so much about what they're doing as it is moving thestory along, which is a nice change, because – shockingly – I seem to have developed a real plot. Not that it's obvious yet, but I know where I'm going with this! _

_I think._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"I can't believe we did that," Summer groans at me, but my head hurts too much to answer. So I mumble some response back, letting my head drop onto my arms on the table. "You _know_ Cohen's never gonna shut up about it."

She's right, of course. Seth – once he gets over his initial shock – will carry this to the grave. And knowing Summer, she'll be the one to put him there if he doesn't shut up. When the boys get back, I bet the first thing out of Seth's mouth is going to be something about Summer and me doing a reenactment.

"We were drunk," I reason, and Summer snorts in agreement. "And it was on the list…"

"Yeah, I don't think Cohen's gonna let that answer stop him."

"Well," I start slowly, lifting my head with only minimal wincing, "just tell him that if he wants a repeat of the show, he and Ryan have to return the favor…" Summer's eyes go wide, and I can tell she's trying not to picture it. We both start laughing, punctuating it with little moans of pain, because we're _so_ hung over.

* * *

Seth shifts uncomfortably in the passenger's seat, clearing his throat awkwardly. "So," he begins, and I almost sigh in relief. I never realized how comforting his constant talking is, and these silences are awful. "Should I ask what's on the agenda, or is it another exciting round of golf?"

I keep the grateful smile off my face – we're back to joking and bantering – as I reply. "Actually, we're going to see a show." His face lights up and I can almost see the vision of naked ladies dancing through his head.

"What show?" he tries to hide his excitement.

"Carrot Top."

* * *

Lots of water and a couple hours later, I'm feeling better. Well enough to call Kaitlin and ask her what's going on tonight. She just laughs at me, tells me to get some more sleep, and hangs up. Summer rolls her eyes and reminds me I did the same thing to her last night. But I don't like not being in control – I'm not sure why I even let Kaitlin take this night all by herself. I think it's because I ran out of ideas, and Kaitlin is always good for an interesting night.

If she doesn't get us killed, that is.

* * *

"That was _hilarious,_" Seth shoots at me, and I laugh.

"What was?" Sandy asks as we walk through the doors, into the overly crowded room.

"Ryan told me we were going to a Carrot Top show," Seth mutters angrily. Sandy, Frank, Bullit and I all start laughing.

"And you bought that?" Sandy quips, shaking his head. "You really think Ryan would do that to you?"

"I think the question," Frank smiles at me, "is would Ryan do that to _himself_?" I grin back at him, and he looks relieved that I can take a little teasing from him. Every once in a while, he still gets unsure of whether I'm ok with him being in my life. I wasn't at first, and it's taken a couple years to get over the childhood's worth of drunken beatings, but he's been growing on me. I think it started when Matthew was born, and I saw how much he had really changed – how hard he was trying to be a good father.

Seth mumbles some sarcastic response, but I don't listen, because my heart rate has almost doubled at the sight of the room. This was Bullit's idea, and I went along with it. I'll be ok, I tell myself, wiping my palms on my chinos. But as we walk through the room, I can't help but let my eyes follow the chips as they're placed on the tables, the cards shuffled and dealt with precision. I take a quick look over at Frank, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by it in the least, and I remember that I get this from my mom.

Bullit heads for a craps table, and I shake my head at the stupidity of it. Who wants to play a game based on chance? My eyes flick over to a poker table.

What could one game hurt?

* * *

"Ok, I totally had something else planned for tonight," Kaitlin explains as we head toward the strip club. "But," she opens the door and ushers us inside – where it's completely empty except for one very busty, very scantily clad woman. "In honor of Summer and Taylor's little show last night," she smirks at us, "I decided to get us stripper lessons." Next to me, Summer puts her hand to her forehead, and Kirsten looks a little uncertain. Julie, though, looks overjoyed and proud of her daughter. I know I'm not in any position to comment on mother/daughter relationships, but they have a very strange one. "Guys, this is Cherry," she introduces us to the redheaded stripper, who smiles at us. At least she looks friendly.

"Most people," the stripper starts with a smug smile, "think that stripping is just a cheap form of entertainment. But it's also a great way to exercise, and it can make sex more enjoyable…"

This is going to be one _long_ night, I think, as Cherry steps onto the stage and begins demonstrating moves for us.

* * *

"Hit me."

The dealer throws another card onto my pile, and I resist the urge to smile triumphantly as the five is placed next to my king and six. "Twenty-one," the dealer nods at me, pushing a pile of chips in my direction. I scoop them up, fixing them into piles as my brain processes my next move. After a quick calculation, I decide that this table is done, and I take my winnings and slide off the stool. I've had my eye on the blackjack table off to my right for some time, and I make my way over there, ignoring the fact that my heart is leaping wildly in my chest.

I'm about to sit down at the blackjack table, when Frank puts his hand on my arm and drags me off to the side of the room. I sigh in annoyance, shooting my birth father a glare. The blackjack table is hot, and I need to get in there before someone takes the advantage. "Maybe you should stop," Frank whispers at me.

"Why?" I growl, and somewhere in the back of my head I realize I sound a lot angrier than I should be. Frank looks uncomfortable, eyes shifting nervously.

"Please don't tell me you forgot that I lived with your mother for a decade," he says, voice still low so no one around us can hear. "I know that look."

I'm not sure whether it's the mention of Dawn – we _never_ talk about her or Trey – or the sincere panic in his eyes that makes me snap back into reality. I look down at the chips in my hand, and it scares me a little, because I don't even remember winning them in the first place. All I remember is the thrill of beating the dealer, the clink of the little plastic pieces being handed back and forth.

"Yeah," I breathe out, a little shakily, "maybe I should take a break." Frank sighs in relief, clapping me on the shoulder, and I don't miss the overwhelming pride on his face.

* * *

I clap enthusiastically as Summer twirls down the pole, and on my left, Kaitlin whistles suggestively at her. I giggle, and we clink our champagne glasses together.

"Seth is gonna _freak_," Kaitlin leans toward me and whispers, and I nod in agreement.

"She does look really good up there," I nod at our friend, who's listening to Cherry intently, mimicking the movements of the stripper. Sometimes it intimidates me – how pretty she is. Kaitlin too. They're both so beautiful, it makes me wonder why Ryan would choose _me_ over girls like them. Kaitlin seems to catch my uncertainty, because she stands up, tugging at my hand.

"Come on Townsend," she says loudly, catching everyone's attention. "We already know you can do a mean lap dance, but can you work a stripper pole?" I try to protest – quite unsuccessfully – as the younger girl leads me to the stage, and Summer moves off with a huge grin on her face.

"Kaitlin…" I protest. Apparently it's ok for Summer to be forced into this, but not me.

"Ryan will appreciate it!" Julie calls from her seat next to Kirsten, who I'm pretty sure is pretending the woman is talking about a Ryan that _isn't_ her son.

"Yeah," Summer agrees, looking at me appraisingly. "Some lingerie, some 80's hair metal, and he won't know what hit him." I open my mouth to protest, but Cherry moves forward to take my arm from Kaitlin.

"Come on," she says softly, "let's give this Ryan guy something to get worked up about." The image of it – of Ryan, watching me as I twirl around a pole for him, that dead look on his face, the one he gets when he's _really_ turned on – makes me hot, so I nod and move towards the pole. "Alright," Cherry grins, "start by placing your hand here…"

* * *

"So the dark side almost got you?" Seth asks, and I glare at him. "But it's ironic," he continues, ignoring my annoyance, "that your father was the one to save you. See, in Star Wars…"

"Seth, shut up." He tries to look hurt, but I roll my eyes at him before looking back at the glass counter. "Now, help me pick something out." Seth sighs dramatically, leaning against the counter like a rag doll, and mumbling something unintelligible. I decide he's useless, so it looks like I'm on my own for this.

The thing is, I don't know what she'll like. I've never bought her jewelry before. Actually, I've never bought jewelry for _any_ girl before, so this is a whole new experience. Diamonds are good, right? Girls like diamonds. I think. Yeah, they do – that's why they have all the diamond commercials on near Valentine's Day. Except there's so much here, what the hell am I supposed to get her?

* * *

"I don't _even_ want to know how Kirsten got so good at that," I tell Summer, who giggles in agreement. Julie and Kaitlin are teasing the woman, who's blushing madly and making excuses.

"Sandy is one lucky man," I hear Julie say, and Kirsten gets even redder.

"Maybe we should send him a video…" Kaitlin teases, waving her cell phone at Kirsten.

I settle back in my chair, and Summer sighs next to me, sipping her champagne. "This is fun," she murmurs, and the other three women fade into the background as I focus on my best friend.

"What's wrong?" I ask, letting my hand drift across the armrests to grab hers encouragingly.

"Nothing," she sighs, then glances over at me. "I love Seth," she starts, the look in her eyes certain and determined, "and I know that I'm supposed to be with him. And I know that marrying him is right, and it's the best thing for both of us, and I want it more than anything in the world."

"But?" I know there's a '_but'_. I can feel it, and I hope it's not too big. I hope it's just something small and stupid, so she doesn't freak out and change her mind. Because I know she's supposed to be with Seth too. It's so obvious. Even back in high school I could see it – I'm pretending like the whole me liking Seth thing never happened, because _ew._

"But everything's gonna change," she slumps back into her chair, looking forlorn.

"Of course it is, silly," I giggle, giving her hand a squeeze. "It's supposed to. That's what life's about, right? Changing, moving forward? And things won't change _that_ much," I reason, letting go of her hand to count points on my fingers, "you move in with Seth, you change your name, and you have a ring on your finger. It's not like college, where you moved across the country, or that time you spent traveling on a bus with unwashed hippies…"

She giggles, hitting me playfully in the arm at my description of her G.E.O.R.G.E. friends. "I know, but I'm gonna miss you," she lost her smile again, pouting down at the floor.

"Summer… I'm not going anywhere. You're only moving a couple blocks away…"

"I know!" she whines, scrunching up her face. "But I'm gonna miss staying up late and watching movies with you, and coming home from work every day and complaining about the annoying people I work with. Who am I supposed to talk to when I'm upset with Seth?" She looks up at me, tears spilling down her face, "oh God, I have to _live_ with Seth!"

"Summer!" I giggle, choking a little as I start to cry myself. "You know you can call me any time, right?" She looks up at me, sniffling and wiping the back of her hand across her nose. "Even if it's two in the morning, and you just want to talk, you can always call me," my voice gets high pitched, and she starts crying harder.

"I love you!" she squeaks, lunging forward and hugging me tightly.

"I love you, too!" I cry loudly, and we both break down into harsh sobs. After a few minutes of embarrassingly loud crying, we break apart, wiping our faces dry and regaining our breath.

"Oh God, we're such girls!" Summer laughs brokenly, face red. I nod in agreement, giggling at us.

"Wow." Kaitlin's sarcasm-laden voice breaks through our moment, and we both turn to where she's got her phone out and pointed at us.

"Kaitlin!" I scold, trying to look stern, but I'm not so sure it worked because of the fact that my face is red and wet and smudged with mascara.

"That was such great blackmail material," she tells us, pressing a few buttons before snapping her phone shut.

"What do you want?" Summer's back to normal, slanting her eyes at the younger girl and crossing her arms – never a good sign.

"I want the bouquet," Kaitlin states bluntly, and I gasp. _No way_ is Kaitlin getting it – that damn bouquet is _mine_, whether she – or Ryan – likes it or not. I open my mouth to say something, but she continues, cutting me off, "_and_ I want to make a speech at the reception." She crosses her arms, mimicking Summer, and raises an eyebrow triumphantly.

"No," Summer shoots back.

"Fine," Kaitlin sighs, taking out her cell. "Then I guess I'll just have to send one of these videos to Seth." She looks up at us, explaining, "one is you too hugging and telling each other how much you love each other. I'm betting Seth would _love_ that one, especially if I remind him of last night's show…" She smirks, flipping the phone open. "The other video is your little confession about not wanting to marry Seth…"

"Oh you are walking on dangerous ground, Cooper," Summer glares, and I shift in my seat – as far away from her as possible. Kaitlin just smiles, lifting her eyebrows, and starts pressing buttons. "_Fine_," Summer growls. "I'll throw you the bouquet, but it's not my fault if another girl," she glances at me pointedly, "pushes you out of the way or something."

"And the speech at the reception?" Kaitlin goads.

Summer pauses for a second, "you can have one at the rehearsal dinner," she bargains. Kaitlin ponders for a while, then nods, sticking her hand out to the bride-to-be.

"Deal."

"Deal," Summer reaches out and they shake on it.

"She's good," I whisper as Kaitlin walks away. Summer glares at me.

* * *

"Ok," I come out of the shop, wiping my palms on my pants nervously. Seth pushes himself upright from where he was leaning against the wall, and falls into step with me.

"So, you pick something out?" he asks mockingly, and I glare at him. Ok, yes, it took longer than I expected to choose something, but he doesn't have to be such a baby about it. After a half hour of staring at the counters, Seth had gone outside because the glare from the diamonds was '_hurting my eyes_'.

"No," I lie, heart beating erratically. I can feel the heavy weight of the box in my pocket, but I really don't feel like talking to Seth about it. The guy's just gonna start ragging on me for being a romantic, or something like that. Plus, I'm not sure I'm even going to give this to Taylor. I'm gonna wait until I see her again, and try to decide whether she'll like it. The sad thing is, I'm drawing a complete blank as to whether or not she even _wears_ jewelry. Does she have pierced ears? I steered clear of earrings for that reason, settling on something a little more practical. Like diamonds were practical.

Jesus, I just bought a girl _diamonds_.

If you had told me, back when I was fifteen, that ten years from now I'd be buying diamonds for a girl, I would've laughed. Maybe _stolen_ some diamonds to pawn off for money to buy food. I shake my head at how different my life is now.

"Hey, let's head back," Seth starts walking back to the casino where Sandy, Frank, and Bullit still are. We left there so I could spend my winnings, but I'd rather not go back right now with this box in my pocket. Plus, I don't feel like being tempted to play again.

"Why don't you go back," I suggest, trying to make myself look tired. "I'm beat, so I'm just gonna go back to the hotel."

"Sure, man," Seth says warily, trying to gauge whether I'm ok or not. I give him a smile, clapping him on the shoulder before walking along the strip to the hotel. He shrugs, and heads off to the casino.

* * *

"So what are you gonna do?" Summer asks quietly, staring at the TV screen. It's nearing one a.m., but we're still up watching a romantic comedy movie marathon and digging into a gallon of ice cream.

"What do you mean?" I reply, half asleep. We're curled up on the couch, blankets piled on us, and my eyes are starting to droop.

"Well, I'm going to live with Cohen, what are you gonna do with my room?" She looks over at me, and we both know she's asking if Ryan's moving in.

"We haven't talked about it," I tell her softly. "I mean, I _want_ to live with Ryan, but I'm not sure if he wants to live with me. Not because he doesn't love me, but…"

"But because it's Ryan," Summer finishes for me, nodding. "Like that one Chrismukkuh, where he didn't want to invite you even though he liked you, because then it would have been real." I nod glumly. "So call him," she shifts, sitting up straighter. "Make him talk about it. It's been seven years since then, I'm sure he's grown up a little." I let out a little laugh and nod, getting up.

"Thanks, Summer," I say before leaving the room. I head into my bedroom and grab my cell out of my purse, flipping it open and hitting the 7 button, because that's where he's stored in my speed dial. Summer asked me once why Ryan wasn't number 2 – 1 being my voicemail. I then had to explain to her that Ryan was under 7 because that's where the letter R was. The Cohens were under 2, for C. Which made Seth and Summer harder to program, what with S, C, and R already being taken. But Summer was 3, under E for environment, and Seth 4, under I for The Ironist. Kaitlin got to be 5 for K, and Julie 6 for Madame – oh yeah, we all found out about her little whoring ring when Kirsten let it slip a couple years ago. Summer had then proceeded to tell everyone about my speed dial habits, and I spent the next month and a half getting teased about being insane. I tried telling them that it just makes more sense to my brain to put people under specific letters, but they didn't get it. Not that they get a lot of what I do, but still…

Anyway, I digress.

I dial 7 for Ryan, and wait patiently as it rings.

* * *

I stare at the box in front of me, and it's like I've gone into a complete state of Zen. I've literally been staring at this damn box for about an hour now, when my cell goes off, snapping me out of it. I dig my phone out of my pocket, and see that Taylor's calling me.

I glance at the box, then hit the cancel button on my phone, sending her to voicemail.

_

* * *

_

Review!


	6. Day 6

_Ok, it's been a really rough bunch of days lately (I think I may be getting sick). Anyway, sorry for the delay._

_Also, please note that I wrote this while watching 'Hostel' for the first time, so it may not be that great. Seriously, a girl just got her eye cut out. Ew._

_On a lighter note, please enjoy!_

* * *

"So I never got to ask how your conversation with Ryan went," Summer remarks, settling the bottles of champagne and sparkling cider on the table. I'm close behind her, three flutes in one hand, two in the other, and I place them on the table next to the bottles.

"It didn't," I sigh, frowning at the table. "He never answered."

"Maybe he was asleep." She doesn't sound worried, and it makes me feel slightly better, but only slightly. "I mean, it was kinda late when you called…"

"Which would make perfect sense," I argue, "except it's been like, twenty hours since then. Shouldn't he have called me back by now?" When she doesn't answer I fall silent too.

Sure, I could talk; try to reason it out with her like I normally do. Because that's how I figure things out most of the time; I talk continuously – it doesn't really matter to whom, so long as I'm talking. But for some reason I don't feel like talking about this, which just makes it all worse. I don't want to talk about this, because I don't _want_ to know the answer.

I look up to see Summer frowning at me, and it looks like she's about to say something, but then Kirsten, Julie, and Kaitlin walk in, saving me. They all walk forward to hug Summer, and I paste a smile on my face, because this is _her_ night. Her last night, to be exact. Tomorrow the boys come home, and we'll officially be in last-week-before-the-wedding panic mode. My plastic smile fades to a real one.

"Ok, I don't have anything planned for tonight, except a nice girl's night in," I announce to the new arrivals, gesturing at the champagne and cider on the living room table. Kirsten is the first to smile and move to the couches, settling down and grabbing the non-alcoholic bottle. Julie kisses my cheek as she walks by, grabbing the liquor and sitting next to Kirsten. I hear Kaitlin sigh.

"Well, it's not vodka and naked boys, but it could be fun," her voice is bland and bored, and I roll my eyes at her. She lets her mother pour her a glass, and she downs it like a pro.

* * *

"Well it's not the night I woulda planned, but it sounds like fun," Bullit flops down on a chair with a sigh, and I roll my eyes. Sandy sits next to him, Frank on the other side, and Seth and I complete the circle. In the middle is a table, laden with every bottle of alcohol from each of our room's mini bars. It's enough for a small army, but I think Frank, Bullit, and I can handle it. Sandy and Seth? Not so much. Well, maybe Sandy, but definitely not Seth. Seth is a lightweight.

I mean, take this week for example: the guy has a couple drinks and starts babbling like an idiot. Wait. Actually, he does that anyway, but when he has a few drinks in him, he starts _slurring_ like an idiot, tripping over his own two feet and knocking things over on a regular basis. He also gets very loud, and very handsy.

I flash back to the strip club where he was drunkenly 'whispering' and groping that stripper who was all too willing to give his money-filled self a dance or two. Except I really shouldn't think of that, because that makes me think of my own misguided stripper situation, which makes me flash to Taylor – voice moaning over the phone, the thought of her getting herself off to my instructions – which actually makes me feel guilty. I _should_ technically get turned on – and a small part of me does – but the whole guilt thing makes it hard to get… well, _hard_.

I'm not sure what's going on with me, but there's just this _feeling_ that I can't shake. No matter how much I joke around with Seth and the others, there's just this thing hanging over my head, and I can't figure it out. It _feels_ like guilt, with a little anxiety mixed in. Maybe I'm just nervous about seeing Taylor tomorrow – tonight _is_ our last night in Vegas, hence the guy's night in. But then why the guilt?

"Dude," Seth's voice cuts into my thoughts, and I look up to find everyone staring at me. "Are you ok?" I shoot him a questioning look, and he laughs, a little uneasily. "You've been out for a couple minutes."

"Yeah," I try to smile, but suddenly my throat is incredibly dry. "Just thinking about seeing Taylor tomorrow." All the men snort and start laughing, giving me lecherous grins, and I try to grin back, but it's forced. I lean forward impulsively, grabbing the first bottle I can and downing the tiny bottle in one go.

* * *

"…so after that he keeps calling me," Kirsten smiles fondly, and we all giggle. I'm feeling much better, thank you very much, after a few glasses of champagne and now Kirsten's story. The blonde woman shifts her gaze down to her glass of sparkling cider at our laughter, feigning embarrassment. "And I swear, I must have ignored his phone calls a dozen times," she continues on, and I hear Summer snort next to me. Her eyes go wide, and she puts a hand over her mouth, which makes us all start laughing harder.

"So basically he was a stalker," Julie shakes her head, reaching for the bottle of champagne and refilling her glass. I hold mine out, and she fills me up too.

"Well, I finally agreed to meet him at a diner, to tell him face to face that I wasn't interested," Kirsten sighs, "but that only seemed to make him _more_ persistent. He kept calling, and I kept turning him down." She pauses, taking a sip of her drink before putting the glass on the table. "Next thing you know, its three years later and I'm married and pregnant and my dad is pissed as hell."

"That sounds like Seth," Summer groans, shaking her head. "What is with Cohen men and their freakish persistence at getting us?" Kirsten smiles indulgently as she thinks of her son, and shakes her head at her soon to be daughter-in-law.

"Just watch out," Julie tips her glass at Summer, "if Seth is anywhere near as persistent as Sandy, you'll be preggers in no time."

"I call dibs on Godmother!" I yell, my arm shooting into the air, and everyone jumps a little. I guess I'm drunker than I should be.

* * *

"…and when I get to the house, it's the biggest thing I've ever seen in my life," Sandy recounts, eyes focused on the ceiling as he remembers. Somehow we started on how excited Seth was for the wedding, and then we got onto how Sandy proposed to Kirsten, and now he's backtracked to the first time he met Caleb. "So Kirsten introduces me to the guy, and I'm trying my hardest to be polite, cause I want the guy to like me…" Seth and I choke out a laugh, because we know how well _that_ turned out. "So Kirsten introduces me, and I stick my hand out for him to shake, and he totally ignores me, turns to Kirsten and goes 'did you know Jimmy is here?'"

"Oh, grandpa," Seth shakes his head, and I laugh into my fourth tiny bottle of liquor. I'm not even sure what kind it is, cause I haven't exactly been taking the time to taste them, I've just been pouring them straight down my throat.

"Kirsten was so angry," Sandy sighs, leaning back in his chair, and we all flash to Kirsten angry. Not a fun thought. The woman may look all sweet and innocent, but I'm pretty sure she could kill us all in our sleep if she wanted to. "So she takes me upstairs, and we ended up having sex on her father's bed."

Bullit slams his bottle down with a roar of laughter, clapping Sandy on the shoulder, and Frank covers a grin with his hand. Seth and I, on the other hand, try not to gag. I'm better at covering it up, because Seth physically makes a gagging sound, opening his mouth wide and pretending to heave.

* * *

"It's not the persistence thing I'm worried about," Summer slurs a little, champagne dangerously close to sloshing out of the glass as she flops back into the cushions. "I got over that a long time ago, when he got up on a coffee cart and told the whole school about us. But he's so _weird_," she whines a little.

"You've known Seth for almost ten years, and you're just getting this _now_?" Kirsten remarks, biting her lip. Julie and Kaitlin laugh, and I start giggling uncontrollably.

"You don't get it," Summer whispers, leaning forward again and lowering her voice like there are other people around. "He likes it when I dress up as comic book characters for him." I choke on my champagne, and Kirsten turns bright red. "Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Cat Woman, Mystique, Elektra…"

"Ew," Kaitlin monotones. I hit her shoulder playfully. She should leave Summer alone. Good for her; role-playing is _fun_.

* * *

"I know what you mean," Seth tries to salute his dad with the tiny bottle of liquor, but ends up saluting the wall, cause his aim is _completely_ off. "I don't know how we did it, but somehow we bagged us some major out-of-our-league hotties."

"Blondie is a nice little number, isn't she?" Bullit muses.

"Hey," Sandy sits up, pointing a warning finger at the man, "you stay away from blondie – Kirsten." He shakes his head, trying to shake off the effects of alcohol.

"I guess it's also true that you end up marrying someone like your mom," Seth continues, oblivious in his drunken state. "Cause Summer is totally in control of the relationship. Kinda like mom controls you." I watch Sandy open his mouth to argue, then think better of it. He has no ground to stand on. "I mean, when we have sex," Seth goes on, ignoring my groan of disgust, "she's _always_ on top." He pauses for a second, thinking, "except holidays. Holidays and birthdays I get special sex." He gets a goofy grin on his face, and I know he's thinking about it. He mumbles something about Cat Woman, and I _really_ have no desire to know what _that's_ about.

* * *

Julie puts an arm around Summer, smiling fondly, "honey, I know _all_ about playing dress up." Summer scrunches up her face, and Kaitlin makes an 'ew' sound. Julie laughs, completely at ease with her sex life, and I remember why I like the woman so much. "Frank may not be into clowns," she shoots Kaitlin a look, and the girl looks slightly embarrassed. _What?_ Summer and Kirsten look equally as confused. "But he definitely likes role-playing," she continues as if we all know what the hell she's talking about. "He _really_ likes slutty nurse…"

* * *

"You think _your_ women are forceful?" Frank joins in the conversation. "Remember who _I'm_ dating? Julie Cooper-Nichol-almost Cooper again-almost Bullit-almost Atwood." He stops, counting on his fingers, "did I miss anyone?"

We all laugh, and I'm feeling a little better now that I have these stories – and quite a bit of alcohol – in me. "Yeah," Seth interjects, "but Summer? She has rage blackouts."

"It's kinda scary," I agree, giving Seth my best sympathy look. Frank looks up at us both, completely unfazed and sure of his win in this category.

"Julie has _toys_."

* * *

I notice that Kaitlin's been quiet for a while, so I decide to engage her in conversation. "So Kaitlin, how's the boy scene for you?"

She shrugs, and sits up lazily. She's totally drunk like the rest of us (minus Kirsten, of course), and her speech is slightly slurred when she talks. "Well there's this guy, Justin," she wrinkles up her nose in distaste. "He's _so _annoying. I mean, he likes all these stupid books, and this stupid music, and he thinks he's _so_ smart…"

I'm about to mention that I asked her about the boy _dating_ scene, not _obnoxious guy in your class_ scene, when it hits me. It seems to hit Julie too, because she gasps, looking at her daughter. "You _like_ him!"

"No!" she protests, just a little too quickly, and a little too loudly. "I mean, ok, I slept with him, but it was only cause I was drunk." She actually blushes, "he wasn't even that good…" Julie's eyes are mischievous, narrowed at her daughter.

"I bet he _was_ good," she teases, and Kaitlin tries to protest, muttering darkly about his _stupid hair_ and his _stupid clothes_ and his _stupid cologne_. I shake my head at her, because it's so obvious she _does_ like this boy, but she's so stuck on being little miss independent that she doesn't want to admit it.

"He wasn't," she grumbles. "And I don't like him. I mean, it's not like I get all woozy and light-headed around him. And ok, yes, I can't stop thinking about him, but that's just because he's annoying." She crosses her arms over herself and pouts, flopping back into the couch. We all grin at her. She has it so bad.

* * *

Bullit leans forward with a groan, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, as long as we're all sharing," he begins and I can't help but think '_oh crap_'. "There was this one woman," he grins, "I think she was a whore…"

"And you're done," Frank laughs, patting his friend on the back. Bullit sighs, saying something about unadventurous men.

* * *

Kaitlin looks so upset, I decide to placate her. Although, truthfully, any of us here could tell her this, but if she hasn't gotten it from Kirsten's and Summer's stories, I'll just have to tell her outright. "Look, Kaitlin," I turn towards the girl, taking her hand. "I know what it's like to fall for someone who's _so_ completely different from what you thought you'd like. I mean, who would've _ever_ thought Ryan and I would get together?" I glance up at everyone, and they all look away guiltily. Obviously _they_ hadn't ever expected it, and I'm sure it took them a while to get used to the idea. "I mean," I continue on, determined not to let that depress me, "when I first met Ryan, I thought he was stupid, truthfully."

Kirsten and Summer – and even Julie – look startled, and I shrug. It's the truth. "I mistook his quietness for being stupid. He never spoke up, so I just always assumed it was because he had no idea what was going on – and that he was only in Harbor because of you guys," I nod at Kirsten, who – thankfully – doesn't look offended. "Then when I actually started having conversations with him after we graduated, I realized he wasn't quiet because he didn't know what was going on around him, it was because he _did_." I let that settle over everyone, hoping it's not too deep in their drunken state, but everyone seems to get what I'm saying.

"He's quiet because he wants to have all the information before he acts," Kirsten adds quietly, and I nod. That's exactly it.

"He likes being in control," I inform them, "I think it's because of how he grew up. Maybe if he talked, he got hit or something… oh, Julie, I'm sorry!" I gasp, shooting a horrified look at the woman. She gives a sad twist of her mouth, shrugging.

"Frank's admitted to it," she sighs, sipping at her drink.

"Maybe if we had hit Seth, he wouldn't be so whiny," Kirsten comments breezily, and we all pause for a full four seconds before bursting into laughter. Sometimes I want to hug Kirsten – she's so good at reading a room and saying the right thing.

"It's not always a bad thing," I remark. "Oh, Ryan being in control, not hitting kids," I explain hurriedly when everyone looks at me strangely. Then I grin, because I know what I'm going to say next will make them all highly uncomfortable. "Especially in bed. He _loves_ being in control…" I let the sentence hang, and Kirsten goes red. "Seriously," I continue, because I want to see how awkward I can make this, "even when I'm on top, he's running the show. And he's always the one to decide when we have sex," I put my finger to my lip in thought, trying not to smile as Kirsten looks horrified. Julie and Kaitlin look lost in thought, which makes me want to giggle gleefully. "He has incredible stamina," I sigh, "sometime's he'll wake me up in the middle of the night…"

"Please," Kirsten cuts in, face totally red. Summer looks just as disgusted – _right_, she thinks of Ryan as a brother. Technically, Julie and Kaitlin shouldn't be thinking about it, but they are Cooper girls, and the Cooper girls love their men. And I mean men in general.

But I stop, smiling down at the floor. I can't wait for Ryan to come home tomorrow.

* * *

"Ryannn," Seth prods my arm with his finger, grinning at me. "You haven't shared yet."

I sigh. "You think Julie's a freak?" I slur, and I'm a little startled to realize I'm actually talking. I must be _drunk_. "Taylor has a copy of the fucking Kama Sutra."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," Sandy tries to argue, but I cut him off with a grunt.

"You don't understand. She actually keeps a record of which ones we've tried. _And_ she keeps track of _where_ and _when_ we tried them." I shake my head, remembering when she first told me about the book, opening it up and pointing out all the positions she wanted to try. I fucked her right then and there, because it was so _fucking_ hot, and we marked off page 32. "The girl is a freak," I continue, although I really should just shut up. "I mean, she'll go for _anything_."

Off to my left I see Bullit start to grin.

* * *

I stumble into the kitchen, letting the bottles drop into the sink with a loud clanking noise. Summer's right behind me with the glasses, nearly slipping on the tiled floor in her socks as she walks. I giggle and grab her arm, trying to keep her upright, and she falls into me with a snort.

"You're soooo drunk," I tell her.

"No I'm not," she shakes her head at me, eyes glazed over. I don't try to argue. Instead, I help her to her room, then head off to mine.

* * *

I'm not _exactly_ sure how we ended up stumbling around the streets of Vegas. I think it has something to do with the fact that we drank all the alcohol in the hotel rooms, and Bullit suggested we head out for more.

"Dude," Seth whispers drunkenly, tugging on my shirt. Except it's not so much tugging as it is grabbing on and half falling over. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" I'm probably just as drunk as Seth is, but I'm much better at controlling myself than he is. Seth looks around at the older men, then shakes his head at me. I sigh. "Hey," I call to the others, "Seth and I are gonna go in here, you guys go on ahead, we'll call later to find you." I pull him into the nearest shop, which turns out to be a tattoo parlor.

"Can I help you?" a woman steps forward, and she's totally fucking hot, shirt cut so low she's almost falling out of it. Seth gapes at her, and I have to drag my eyes up to her face. "Did you want a tattoo?" she asks, huffing impatiently.

I open my mouth to say no, but Seth drags me in, and I realize it's because Sandy, Frank, and Bullit are still outside, looking at us in confusion. "Yeah," he slurs at the woman, "he wants one."

Suddenly I'm sitting in the chair, Seth on the stool next to me with a pad of paper and a pencil in his hands, scribbling furiously. I try to sit up, but his hand lashes out and pushes me back against the seat. "Seth, I'm not getting a fucking tattoo," I mutter.

"Dude, shut up." He hands the paper to the lady before turning to me. "We have a problem."

"You mean besides me getting a tattoo?" I grumble darkly. I don't _want_ a fucking tattoo.

"Remember last night after you went back to the hotel and I went back to the casino?" I nod, and there's a faint buzzing to the right of me. "Well, when I got there, I couldn't find anyone, and I was just gonna leave, but then there were all these pretty lights, and I couldn't help myself…"

"Jesus!" I cut him off as a sharp sting pricks the inside of my wrist. I look right and there's a scary looking man in leather holding my arm down and glaring at me. I swear again as the needle hits my skin, and I look away.

"I lost three _thousand_ dollars," Seth shakes my other arm, and I growl at him. Wait. What?

"You _lost_ three thousand dollars?" I hiss back at him, and he turns slightly green, like it really just hit him.

"It was supposed to be part of our honeymoon money," he continues in horror, and suddenly I can't feel the pain in my wrist anymore.

"Summer's gonna fucking kill you," I tell him, and I realize I'm in shock. How could he be so stupid? Seth puts his head in his hands, and I think he might actually cry. My anger goes away, and I sigh. "Look, calm down. We'll just… win it back." Seth raises his head, hope shining in his eyes, and I realize it's too late to take it back. I want to tell him that I can't win it back for him. I can't gamble. I can't let it take me over again.

"I love you, man, you know that?" Seth throws his arms around my neck, and there's a sharp protest from the tattoo guy.

_Fuck_, what have I gotten into?

_

* * *

_

So this chapter was pretty much just filler (except for the last little part - more to that next chapter). I'm not as fond of this one as I am the others, so I hope it was ok...

Review!


	7. Day 7

_Um… so, I know I've been saying this a lot lately, but this feels like a filler chapter. Oh well. I still enjoyed writing it, and I hope you all enjoy reading it!_

_And since I haven't done this in a while: my musical inspiration for this were the songs 'Bendable Poseable', 'Ready For the Floor', and 'Shake a Fist' by Hot Chip off the album 'Made in the Dark'._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Taylor, wake up," Summer shakes me awake, and I wince against the morning light filtering through the blinds. "It's almost eleven. We have to get ready." She stumbles out of the room, and I notice that she's still in her PJ's, hair a mess. A glance at the clock shows she's right. We have to start cleaning up – and sobering up – because the boys are due back around three.

I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through my stomach at the thought that in a little more than four hours, I'll get to see Ryan again. Summer and I need to plan, because I want Ryan all to myself tonight, so we need to figure out if Ryan's coming here, or if I'm going over to his place. It doesn't really matter to me, so long as I have 1) Ryan, 2) a bed, and 3) no interruptions.

I really shouldn't be thinking of this, because I can already feel the dull ache start, throbbing hotly between my legs. I get out of bed and head for the shower.

* * *

My head throbs as I open my eyes, and for a second I don't know where I am. Then I remember: Vegas, hotel. Right. Except… this isn't _my_ room, its Seth's. Why am I in Seth's room?

My question is answered when the door opens, and Seth stands there – still in his clothes from last night – looking at me in confusion. I drag myself off the bed and shrug. He shrugs with me, and I walk past him out of the door and go into my room, where the bed is a mess from Seth sleeping in it all night.

* * *

I haul the bag down the stairs, ignoring the strange looks from our downstairs neighbors, and place the empty liquor bottles in the recycling bin. It's nearing noon, and my shower time did nothing to help my problem. In fact, getting off seems to have made it worse, because I can't help but think of Ryan. Seriously, no matter what else I try to think of, it just keeps leading back to him. I can't imagine what our reunion's going to be like.

I wonder if he misses me.

* * *

"So… the Bullit's just… gone?" Seth looks between Sandy and Frank, and I cross my arms, hiding the bandage on my sore wrist.

"Well, after you went into the tattoo place," Sandy looks as us reproachfully, but luckily Seth keeps his goddamn mouth shut about _that_, "he wanted to go to a strip club. So we went, and halfway through, we noticed he was gone."

"Have you tried calling him?" I ask, because our plan is quickly going south if we can't find Bullit.

"Of course," Frank cuts in, glaring at his cell. "But he's not answering. It just keeps going to voicemail, and I'm a little sick of hearing '_Bang!'_ over and over again."

"So we'll just get a ride back with you two," Sandy shrugs, and I see Seth start to panic next to me. Looks like it's up to me to fix this.

"Actually, Seth wanted to stop at this giant comic book store that supposedly has _everything_. It'll be really boring," I stress, and Seth nods. "So why don't you guys take the Jeep back, and we'll catch a cab later?"

"Why don't we wait for you?" Sandy looks confused, but Seth steps in.

"Nah, go home, see mom." Sandy doesn't _quite_ look convinced. "And Sophie… and Matthew," he adds quickly, playing on both of their fatherly instincts.

"You _sure_?" Sandy asks one last time. We both nod, and he and Frank shrug. I toss Sandy the keys to the Jeep, and the two head out of the hotel lobby. We wave bye to them until they're out of sight.

"Ok," Seth turns to me, rubbing his hands together nervously. "What now?"

"Now?" I sigh, "now we get your money back."

* * *

"So you'll go over there?" I ask, just to make sure. Summer nods.

"I mean, I'm gonna be living there soon, I might as well start using it now." She throws the cut up peaches into the crust, moving to the sink to wash her hands.

This was an impulse, making Ryan the peach torte. For one thing, I need _something_ to keep my hands busy while the next two hours tick by, but it's also because he likes it, and I like making him happy. This week apart has made me realize how much I really do love him. Not like I didn't know it before, but there's something about the distance that makes the heart grow fonder.

Ok, ew. I feel like I'm quoting a Hallmark card.

* * *

We've been to about three different casinos, but it seems like the word is out about me. Blonde male, mid-twenties, stocky build, knows how to count cards and will rob your casino blind. So after the third place – the third large security guard eyeing me down with a warning glare – I decide that the casinos are a bust.

So that's why we're here: in a rundown bar where I heard rumor that there's back room poker going on. They aren't connected to the big casinos, so I'm sure they don't have the bulletin that they shouldn't let me play. Next to me, Seth swallows loudly, looking around nervously at the bikers and lowlifes that are playing pool. Maybe if there isn't a poker game today, I can win money shooting pool.

I'm good at pool.

* * *

We're at the Berkeley house, where everyone agreed to meet. I've been stealing glances out the front window for about a half an hour now, and my heart leaps in my chest when I see the familiar Jeep pull into the drive.

It takes me by surprise, how hard my blood is pounding, how much I'm shaking. My stomach is fluttering wildly, and I can't believe I'm this worked up over just seeing him again. The roar of the Jeep's engine cuts off, and with it my memory of riding him in the front seat of that Jeep, out in the parking lot of my apartment building when he dropped me off after a movie. I shake my head, clearing the fuzziness and the five of us go outside to greet the boys.

Except it's not Ryan and Seth, its Sandy and Frank. I glance at Summer, and she looks confused too. The situation gets a little less confusing when Sandy and Frank explain that our boys will be along in about an hour – something about a comic book store.

I really want to kill Seth right now for delaying my hot, sweaty, Ryan time.

* * *

My heart races madly, pumping blood hotly through my veins. I flick my eyes up at the dealer – some asshole in a trucker hat that seems oddly familiar – and he watches me intently. I hide my shaking hands by taking a sip of my beer before throwing a couple chips onto the pile. Seth stands nervously on the other side of the room, wringing his hands and shifting impatiently. Maybe he's thinking back to the last time we got into an underground poker game… and suddenly this guy is way too familiar. Shit. He can't seriously be the same guy, can he?

All I know is that I've won a shitload of money from him, and he doesn't look happy in the least. I resist the urge to take this guy for every penny he's got, and try to gather my winnings. The guy – now completely pissed that I'm leaving the game – nods at someone behind me. I glance over my shoulder at this absolutely _huge_ fucker coming towards me, and this can't be good.

* * *

"Where are they?" Summer grumbles, shutting her cell with a loud clack. This is the sixth time we've tried calling – each of us three times.

"Maybe they're dead in a ditch…" Kaitlin starts, but stops when I glare at her.

Kirsten, Sandy, Julie, and Frank are inside, having coffee and chatting about the trip – and about _certain_ cell phone pictures… Despite their explanation, it's been about two hours since Sandy and Frank got in, and the boys still aren't here. Truthfully, I'm worried, and Kaitlin's scenario has been running through my head for the better part of forty minutes.

"Sorry," Kaitlin goes on, apparently trying to talk enough so we'll feel better. Unfortunately, she's just making it worse.

"You know," Summer cuts in, "your wedding invitation _did_ say 'Kaitlin Cooper and guest'. Why don't you go invite that boy?"

I nod in agreement, "yeah. If anything, it'll prove whether you really like him or not. I mean, if you can't stand him after one night, then you know."

Kaitlin sighs heavily – which I know is just covering up for how nervous she is – and stands up. She heads towards her car, muttering under her breath the whole time about meddling friends.

I hope it goes well for her. She really deserves someone – she's an amazing girl.

* * *

"Seth! Fucking run!" I slow down so he can catch up, and I really wish he were faster, because the guys after us are. When he gets close enough to me, I grab his arm, hauling him forward and making his legs move faster.

I don't know where I'm going. All I know is its getting dark and I'm running, and there are some seriously angry poker players who want to kill me. I'm not even sure why – I didn't take their goddamn money. But I think the trucker guy is pissed that I beat him so badly. Or maybe it's because I punched one of his friends when the guy tried to grab Seth.

And then I _might_ have punched the angry trucker guy.

Either way, the sound of our feet on the pavement is loud in the alleyway – and I _swear to fucking God_ this is the last time I _ever_ gamble. The goddamn box in my pocket hits my leg heavily with each step I take, and I should've just returned it and given Seth _that_ money. There's a tug on my shirt and I panic for a second, until I realize its Seth, and he's pulling me towards a boarded up house across the street. Before I can react, we're at the door, and he's forcing it open.

_Shit._

The minute – _the second_ – the door's open, a sharp ringing cuts through the air, freezing us in place.

"FUCK, Seth," I yell, pulling at his shirt to drag him away from the open door.

"What's going on?" he doesn't move with me, instead looking around him like an absolute idiot. What does he _think_ that noise is?

"It's a goddamn alarm system you moron," I shout. "Now let's fucking _go_." He hesitates for a few more seconds, wasting precious time. The house may be boarded up, but it's big and it looks pretty fucking expensive.

I haul ass down the driveway, and I can hear Seth right behind me, muttering something, but I'm not really paying attention. I make for the alleyway we came out of before, because that's the best place around to hide. We make it across the street, and I can feel the panic rise in my chest. If the owner of the house is as rich as I think he is – judging from the size and the impeccable lawn care of a _boarded up house_ – the police will be here any second. Police are quick when there's money and important people involved.

I start down the alley, only to find those fucking poker thugs milling around in the next street. Fuck. They must have lost us, but there's no way I can go this route and not have them see me. Seth runs into my back – apparently he didn't notice I stopped moving – and I hold him back before he sends us crashing out into the open. I nod my head back, and we move as quietly as possible out of the alley, and I pull him to run in a random direction.

We're halfway down the street when a siren blares, lights flash, tires squeal. There's a shout as the doors of the cars open.

Shit.

Shit, fucking _shit_.

Seth mumbles something next to me, but I don't hear it cause I'm too fucking busy putting my hands up.

* * *

"Taylor, you need to calm the hell down, ok?" Summer actually _yells_ at me, glaring from the kitchen.

"_Calm down_?" I nearly shriek back at her, biting my thumbnail and pacing back and forth in front of the TV. Every three point five seconds I flip the channel, through all the local stations, for any news. It's been nearly five hours since they were supposed to arrive, and we've heard absolutely nothing. I've literally called his cell phone thirty seven times, and Summer's done almost the same with Seth. It's one thing to not call me back after I leave a voicemail saying '_we need to talk_' but it's completely different to ignore thirty seven voicemails of my hysterical self asking if he's ok.

Because even if Ryan was angry at me for some reason, or hell, even if he _hated _me, he would still call, because that's who he is. Ryan is just plain considerate, and he would call his worst enemy if the person left thirty seven voicemails. So the only other explanation is that he's in trouble, and the thought makes my stomach wrench and my heart squeeze painfully. I feel like I can't breathe, and it's only because my brain keeps chanting '_breathe, breathe, breathe,'_ that my lungs are still functioning.

"I can't concentrate when you're pacing like that," Summer hisses at me, arms folded over her stomach protectively, eyes dark, entire face drawn into a tight mask. So I stop, because I know she's just as worried as I am; she just doesn't show it.

"Summer," my voice is a whisper, and it cracks slightly. She shoots me a look that begs me not to say anything else, because if I do – if I mention the giant elephant in the room – we'll both lose it. So instead I take out my phone again, even though I know it won't do any good, and dial 7. I get his voicemail again, and when the beep comes, I feel my heart sink. "Ryan," I croak into the mouthpiece, "please don't be dead."

* * *

"Ok," I tell Seth as he gets up to use the pay phone. "Just call Sandy, everything will be ok." He nods, looking for all the world like he's going to his death. The officer stands by him while he makes the call. They really have it out for him - I'm assuming because he made some snarky comment about doughnuts while we were being processed. Another officer comes to the bars holding my cell phone in his hands and grinning at the display.

"You have thirty seven voicemails," the officer grins, and I realize they have it out for me, too. Goddamn Seth and his idiot mouth.

"Wonderful," I sigh, and the guy smirks when the phone starts buzzing again.

"'Taylor'," the guy reads off the display, smirking at me, and I know he won't let me answer it. "Looks like you have thirty eight voicemails."

I can't imagine how she's feeling. She must think I'm dead or hurt or something. I know she worries, and when she worries, she gets extra strength crazy – hence the thirty eight messages. Seth reenters, nodding that it's my turn. I know he's already called Sandy, so I don't need to.

I dial the familiar number, and wait.

"Hello?" She sounds like she's about to cry, and the guilt wells up in me. "Hello?" she repeats when I don't answer immediately.

"Taylor." I don't know what else to say – how the fuck am I supposed to explain this? There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

"_Ryan_?"

"Yeah, it's me," I lower my voice, cause the cop is standing very close to me, and this is a personal call, goddamn it. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't…"

"Are you ok?" Her voice shakes, and I feel my stomach tighten.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. I… didn't have access to my phone. Seth and I are ok, we'll be home tomorrow and I'll explain everything then."

"God, I thought you were dead," she breaks, and I can hear her start crying on the other end of the line.

"No, Taylor, everything's ok. I don't have a lot of time, but I'm ok, so you can stop crying…" she doesn't listen to me, and I can still hear her talking – something about a ditch, but I don't really notice the words because crying girls make my brain shut down. "Taylor, I'm ok, please stop…" the payphone cuts out, and the recording asks me to deposit another quarter or hang up.

* * *

I pull my knees up to my chest as I sob. I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life, and the relief in my chest is so strong it's almost painful. I don't know where Summer is right now, and I don't care.

I make myself stand up and walk to my bed, where I pull the covers up over my head, curl into a ball, and fall asleep to dreams of cars slamming into poles and Ryan's broken body sprawled on the ground.

_

* * *

_

Oooh. Drama…

_Review! If you don't I'll leave Ryan and Seth in jail..._


	8. Day 8

_And now, what everyone's been waiting for since day one: the RT reunion!_

_Happy readings!_

* * *

"Cohen!"

I wince at the anger in Summer's voice, and we both turn around to face the cell door, where she – and Taylor – are standing looking quite angry.

"Hey, Summer…" Seth begins lamely, getting up and walking to the bars. "You look lovely…"

"What did I tell you?" she cuts him off, voice shrill and eyes flashing. "I told you no calls from prison," she answers her own question, putting her hands on her hips – a sure precursor to the rage-blackout ahead.

"Dude," I start off, shaking my head at my brother. "You called _Summer_? You told me you called Sandy!" Way to get us in a lot of trouble, idiot. Seriously, Summer looks like she's about to rip the metal bars out of the ground and beat us to death with them, and Taylor looks equally as angry. Shit. I guess she's done worrying about my safety, and moved onto being pissed at me.

"I tried!" Seth whines, trying to split a pout between Summer and me. "But he wasn't answering…"

"So?" I cut in sharply. "If you can't reach Sandy, you call Frank, or Kirsten, or _hell_, even Bullit or Julie! Kaitlin! But calling your fiancée to bail you out of jail a week before the wedding?" I shake my head at him.

"_You_ called _me_!" Taylor's voice rings sharply through the cold cell, and Seth gasps in indignation. Ok, I wasn't going to tell him that.

"Traitor!" Seth hisses, pointing at me accusingly. I open my mouth to argue, but really, I have no ground to stand on. Calling Taylor was about as brilliant as him calling Summer, and we both know it. I should've tried calling Sandy too, just to make sure.

"We should let you rot in there," Summer glowers at us, motioning to the guard to open the cell. "But lucky for you the wedding's already paid for, and there's _no way_ I'm letting that much chicken and fish go to waste. Plus, that giant ice sculpture would flood my apartment."

We get out of the cell, and the guard closes the door behind us with an ominous clang. This can't be good.

* * *

Summer is driving, and I'm riding shotgun. We relegated Ryan and Seth to the back, because neither of us feel like dealing with them right now.

Seriously, I don't think I've been this angry in a really long time. Jail? What was he thinking? Summer had said they were lucky the wedding was in a week, but really they were lucky I convinced her to come down here at all. She'd wanted to let them stew for a few days, but I convinced her that 'a few days' would put a big damper on her wedding.

I glance in the rearview mirror to look at the boys. Ryan's face is like stone, arms crossed, jaw tight, and Seth is glaring at his brother, muttering angrily under his breath. I roll my eyes at them, letting a small huff escape. Summer glances over at me, and gives me a look that says she can't believe this either.

Seriously? Jail?

* * *

"What?" I growl angrily at Seth, who's been glaring at me this whole time.

"Nothing, _man,_" he stresses sarcastically. "Just thinking of what a big traitor-hypocrite you are!"

"_Me_?" I hiss back indignantly. Where does this guy get off… "you're just as bad as I am!"

"Not-uh," he protests like a little kid, and I hear Summer groan from the front seat. "You got all angry at me for calling Summer first!"

"You got us arrested!" I yell, throwing up my hands in frustration.

"WHAT?!" Summer's voice cuts through our anger like a big scary knife, and Seth's eyes bug out.

"Dude!" he hits my arm, "look what you did!"

"_Dude_," I hit him back, harder than he hit me, judging by the wince.

"Cohen, I can't believe you!"

I'm feeling vindictive right now, and the fear on Seth's face is delicious, so I rub it in. "Yeah, he's the one that broke into this house and triggered all the alarms."

"Cohen!"

Seth looks at me in horror. "Betrayer!" he gasps. Then his gaze flicks to Taylor, and the triumph drains from me. "Yeah, well the reason I had to hide in that building was because Ryan here got into a fight with some angry trucker guy over a poker game from _freaking nine years ago_."

"Ryan!" Taylor turns fully in her seat to look at me, and I can see the disappointment in her face. So much for reunion sex. The thought makes me unbelievably angry, and I decide to take it out on Seth – he is, after all, the reason for said celibacy tonight.

"Yeah, well Seth felt up a stripper." There's three sharp gasps, and I fold my arms and glare at Seth.

"Cohen, I'm going to kill you!" Summer screeches from the front seat, the car swerving a little in her anger.

"Summer! Road!" Taylor warns, turning back to face the other girl.

"Ryan invited a stripper up to his room to play 'French whore'!" he shoots back, and I resist the urge to lunge across the car and strangle him.

"What?" Taylor whips around in anger, and I can see that she's hurt too.

"I was drunk!" I protest, and it's the only reason Seth isn't dead right now. "And we didn't!"

"Only because Sandy stopped you!" Seth adds snidely, and I snarl at him before turning back to Taylor.

"Look, baby," Seth snorts as I try to use a pet name for her – she likes it when I call her 'baby', but that's usually when I'm fucking her, and she doesn't seem to appreciate the gesture now. "I was really drunk, and I thought she was you." Ok, saying it now, it didn't sound like the _best_ excuse. "Plus, Seth was gonna spend the night with some Slutty McSlutterson dancer if I hadn't told her to back the hell off." I direct this last part at Summer, who's eyes narrow in the rearview mirror.

"Ryan played poker!"

"Damn it, Seth!" I shout when Taylor's mouth goes wide, and even Summer looks angry at me. "At least _I_ didn't play poker and _lose_." Seth shakes his head at me, face twisting up in frustration, eyes flashing angrily at me.

"_Lose_?" Summer cries, and the car jerks sharply.

"Three thousand dollars," I add, shooting an angry look at my brother.

"Seth!" Taylor cries, grabbing the steering wheel to steady the car.

"Dude! What the hell?"

"You started it," I mutter, crossing my arms again.

"Summer, pull over," Taylor commands, shooting Seth and I furious looks as Summer swerves off the highway, breaking hard and throwing us all forward.

* * *

I get into the driver's seat, and Summer slams the car door shut on the passenger side. "Ok," I breathe out, turning the key and starting the car up again. "Now, let's all calm down." I put the blinker on and wait until there's a break in the traffic before pulling back onto the road.

Summer is fuming next to me, arms crossed, eyes slanted, jaw jutting forward angrily. In the back Seth and Ryan are shooting death glares at each other. Truthfully, this would all be really funny if I weren't so angry myself.

What was Ryan thinking? Getting into fights? Getting arrested? Inviting whore strippers to his room? _Gambling_? That was the worst part; the part that scared me most. I know his mother's past. Ryan's talked about it a little, giving me a general overview of it, but most of my information comes from Seth and – surprisingly – Frank. Seth talks all the time about Ryan's past, and I've heard one too many times about my boyfriend's card-counting abilities. And Frank, in the rare moments we get together, which are few and far between, has given me some insight into their early home life. I'd asked, once, about it, and he'd fessed up to his past indiscretions, as well as his ex-wife's.

I'm broken out of my thoughts as I hear Seth mutter "traitor" in the back seat, which sets Ryan off again. They begin to argue, only this time it's not so much with the accusations, but more of a general 'you're an idiot' type argument. I realize now why Summer had been swerving so much: hearing people yell in the back seat is very much the opposite of relaxing.

"Shut up!" I yell, and Summer shoots an '_I told you so'_ look at me. Except she didn't tell me so, but I see her point. Ryan and Seth didn't seem to hear me, because they're still arguing. Or, maybe they _did_ hear me, because they're both shouting at the other to shut up. "Ryan! Seth!" my voice goes into full on Newpsie-mode, loud and commanding. "Both of you shut up this instant or I will pull this car over and make you walk home, do you hear me?" I try to glare at them through the rearview mirror, and they both shut up, looking sullen.

"Yes, Taylor," they both mumble, not exactly in unison but close enough. Blissful silence takes over the car again, and I sigh.

"Good. Now, we're going to turn on the radio, and neither of you are going to speak for the rest of the ride home, got it? Not one word."

Seth grumbles something, but Ryan stays silent. He knows better. I've trained him well, I think, smirking out at the road. When I tell him no talking, he knows not to talk. Same goes for me. If he tells me not to talk, I'm not allowed to talk – or make any other noises. I shake my head, trying to clear it, because suddenly I'm on sex again, which is not good, because I'm supposed to be angry at him. I try to ignore the blood pumping hotly through my veins and the fact that it's been seven, long, tension filled days of not seeing him but thinking about him constantly. But Summer and I need to present a united front…

Then I think back to the stripper thing, and suddenly it's easier to be angry. He'd said he was drunk… did that mean the stripper thing happened the night he called me? _Oh God_. Did that mean he only called me because he was riled up from the stripper? Suddenly every lustful thought is gone, and replaced by the intense need to cry. Well, maybe not so much cry, because I'm not really a big crier. It's more an intense need to find out the truth, and maybe hit him over the head with something for making me doubt our relationship – even for a second.

Because I know, deep down, that Ryan would never cheat on me. And truthfully, I'm not sure he would even _think_ about another girl like that. He's so loyal… but still, it _is_ me, so there's automatically the fear that I'm not good enough. I sigh – the consequence of growing up with my mother.

* * *

I don't think Seth's ever been this angry with me before. Actually, I can't really remember a time when Seth was _ever_ angry at me. But he is now, from the looks he's shooting at me. And as angry as I'd like to be at him… yeah, I wish he hadn't told the girls about the stripper and the gambling, but I know my rage is mostly misplaced guilt and fear.

I can see Taylor's profile as she drives – entire body tense, hands firmly on the ten-and-two positions – and I feel it all boil over. What the hell was I thinking? Going to Vegas for a bachelor party? When had Vegas _ever_ been a good experience for me?

I shouldn't have gone.

I shouldn't have drank.

I shouldn't have gambled.

I shouldn't have gone into that jewelry store.

The heavy weight of the box in my pocket presses against my leg, and it feels a thousand times heavier than it actually is. I slip my hand into my pocket and trace my fingers over the edge of it. When we get home, I'll find a pawn shop and get my money back.

* * *

We pull up to Seth and Ryan's apartment, and I put the car in park. There's complete silence in the car, and it's like we're all waiting for someone else to move. Seth's pouting in the back seat, Summer looking angry and stubborn to my right. I glance in the rearview mirror and catch Ryan's eye, and a jolt of fear goes through me. His expression is absolutely dead, and when he sees me watching him, he presses his lips together resolutely, then gets out of the car.

Seth takes that as his cue – or maybe he just doesn't want to be alone in the car with us – to get out. He follows Ryan to their place, and I can see his mouth working, and the way Ryan's shoulders tense, and I know he's ranting again.

I look over at Summer, and I see her slump into her seat when the boys are out of sight. I don't know what to say, so I start the car up again and drive off.

* * *

I climb the stairs to our apartment, Seth's mouth going a mile a minute behind me, ranting and spouting out words like 'traitor' and 'hypocrite'.

"Shut up, Seth," I snarl at him when we're inside, slamming the door behind me. Seth actually backs up a couple steps, eyes going wide, and I force myself to calm down. "Just… stop, ok?" I try to regulate my breathing, hoping that it will regulate the blood pumping forcefully through my veins.

"Dude," Seth starts, and he looks crestfallen. He seems to finally have caught up to everything, and looks ashamed of himself. He looks like I feel. We stand there, embarrassed and on edge. "Look, I'm sorry…" he manages, holding out his hands in apology.

"No, its ok," I sigh, walking into the kitchen area and pulling open the fridge. "I'm not angry at you." I pull out a bottle of water, gulping it down at letting the cold liquid battle my heated body.

"You're not? Dude, I totally ratted you out…"

"Yeah, well, I told them your stuff too. And I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at me for actually doing that shit."

Seth looks contemplative for a few minutes. "Yeah, me too." Which takes me by surprise, cause Seth usually makes lots of excuses for himself and the way he acts. "But the girls will get over it," he reasons, trying to reassure himself. "We've done _way_ worse stuff before. Remember when I tried to high-five Summer about not being pregnant? Remember when I abandoned her to sail away on a boat? And you? Dude, you gave her a dictionary at her first ever birthday party, and you let her fall off a roof." He laughs to himself, looking better about the whole situation. "This is nothing compared to all the crap we've been through. We'll be fine."

I want it to be fine. I do. "No it won't." His head jerks up, looking surprised and panicked. "You and Summer will be fine," I amend. "But Taylor and I won't."

"Look, of the two of us? Taylor is way more likely to forgive you than Summer is me. I mean, you remember her rage-blackouts, right?" I shake my head at him, and his face falls.

"It's not that she won't forgive me. She will. I'm just not going to let her." The thought makes my stomach lurch, so I turn and head towards my room. I want to be alone.

"What?" Seth's voice stops me, and I sigh in frustration.

"Did you see me in Vegas?" I turn around, anger rising in my veins again. "Drinking, gambling…"

"Dude, I did that stuff too," Seth protests, eyes wide with panic.

"You don't get it, Seth," I growl. "I got drunk and would have slept with a stripper if Sandy hadn't stopped me. It doesn't matter that I thought it was Taylor, because it _wasn't._ I gambled, Seth, and it felt good. And I would've kept going – I probably would have lost everything – if Frank hadn't stopped me."

"Hey, I _did_ lose money. And what about that dancer our first night? You had to stop me from going with her…"

"No," I cut him off. "You might have danced with her, you might have even kissed her, but you never would have slept with her. And you may have gambled and lost, but you didn't lose yourself in the game. You don't need other people reining you in, keeping you from screwing everything up." I take a shaky breath before continuing. "Taylor deserves better than that. I can't do this to her."

I start to turn around again, but Seth stops me. "No."

"Excuse me?" I try to infuse my voice with authority – with the tone that usually makes Seth back down.

"No, you're not doing this to her. I don't know what the hell changed in Vegas, but you're no different now than you were before in her eyes. She _knows_ this stuff about you, and she's totally cool with it. You think I don't know Summer deserves better? She does. She deserves so much more than me, but I'm ok with being selfish. You need to start being selfish, Ryan."

I shake my head at him. "It is different now," my voice is low and tired. I _feel_ tired. I feel like I want to sleep for days. Just… curl into a ball and sleep.

"How?" he challenges, and I wonder where this strength came from.

I can't answer him. I can't explain. So instead I reach into my pocket and grab hold of the tiny black box resting there. I pull it out and toss it to him before turning and finally leaving the room. I lock my bedroom door, and ignore Seth's persistent knocking and frantic shouts to let him in. I don't want to talk.

_

* * *

_

Don't hate me! And don't worry, this isn't going to go into some big drama spiral, I promise.

_Review!_


	9. Day 9

_Oh my… um… it seems the smut-bunnies have found me…_

_Enjoy! _

* * *

It's hunger that forces me out of my hole, and I almost go back in when I see Seth sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up at me, serious expression firmly in place, hands playing with that god-forsaken black box. I sigh and start getting out my cereal fixings: bowl, spoon, cereal, milk. I set it all onto the kitchen table, then drop into a chair wearily before assembling it. Cereal in bowl, check. Milk on cereal, check. Spoon in hand, check.

I'm about to dip the spoon into my breakfast when Seth talks. I'm surprised he lasted this long. "What are you doing, man?" There's no accusation, no anger. He's just curious and a little disappointed.

"I told you yesterday," I mumble around my food. I know there's no getting away from this, but I still don't want to talk.

"Look, she doesn't know you bought her this. So just… don't give it to her. Nothing has to change."

"But _I_ know I bought it, Seth," I explain wearily. "I'm going to go pawn it today, then go and talk to Taylor."

We both know that '_talk to Taylor'_ means _'break up with Taylor'_. I can't look him in the eye.

"Just…" he sighs, searching for the words. "Just promise me you'll talk to Taylor first. Before you do anything, just go talk to her."

I shrug. It doesn't matter what order I do this in, it's still happening either way.

* * *

I wake up and stay in bed. Which is totally not me; usually I'm out the second my alarm goes off, unless Ryan's here with me and we decide to have some morning fun. But today feels like a stay-in-bed kind of day, so I do.

Surprisingly, I'm not angry with Ryan anymore. I was at first – I mean, a stripper? But now I'm just thankful that he has such great fathers – Sandy for stopping the – _god damn_ – stripper, and Frank for halting his gambling.

Seth had come over last night to apologize and fill in the gaps. He told me that Frank was the one to pull Ryan out of his daze. He told us all about their trip - except what Ryan did with the money he won. 

Summer had asked, but Seth had been suspiciously vague about it, saying that Ryan must still have the cash somewhere. And I would have believed him – Ryan isn't one to just go spending money without really thinking it through – if it hadn't been for the incredibly guilty look on his face. Summer and I had questioned him about it, but he remained silent.

* * *

I drive to Taylor's, and I can't help but start to panic. Except it's not even a real panic, because my body's pretty much shut down to basic motor functions and brain processes.

Summer answers the door when I get there, and she lets me in with a knowing look. Seth told me all about his visit here last night – and whined for about an hour about Summer still being angry – and I think Summer expects me to come in here apologizing. Which I will, before breaking up with her.

"Hey, Ryan," Taylor says softly to me, holding a mug of coffee and still in her pajamas.

"Summer, can I talk to Taylor alone?" Summer looks like she wants to protest, but something in my face makes her leave. She gives some excuse about needing to get her dress altered, and leaves the apartment. Great. Maybe I shouldn't have asked her to go, then she could be here for when I make Taylor cry.

"Taylor…" I begin, and my stupid stubborn throat closes on me. I just want to get the words out, damn it, and then I can leave. The longer this drags on, the harder it is for both of us.

"Ryan, it's ok." I look up in surprise, and she's actually _smiling_ at me. "I'm not angry."

"You're not?" Damn, stop getting off track. Just stay on topic, say what you rehearsed in your head.

She walks over to me, placing her mug on the counter as she goes. "No," she laughs lightly, sliding her arms around my torso and burying her face into my shoulder.

There's a desperate struggle to regain control of my senses, because I forgot how good this feels – having her in my arms, the smell of her shampoo and perfume swirling around me, everything. It feels so _right_.

Oh, I'm gonna fucking _kill_ Seth when I get home.

He _knew_ this would happen, the bastard. That's why he wanted me to come here first. Motherfu…

"Ryan?"

I look down at her, and she's still smiling up at me, eyes wide and innocently trusting. Fuck. Ok, speech time.

"Look, Taylor," I place my hands on her hips and –_ resist the urge to bend her over the kitchen table – _push her away from me so I can look at her better. "I realized something in Vegas." She raises an eyebrow and waits expectantly. "I can't be trusted. I had to have Sandy and Frank look out for me the entire time. I did some really awful things, but Seth told you that, so I don't think I need to repeat any of them. My point is, you deserve someone better than me…"

"No."

What the fuck? Why can't anyone just goddamn let me finish? I've made my decision. "What?"

"No, you're not getting out of this that easily," she folds her arms and shakes her head at me. She doesn't look angry, either, which is weird. "I already knew this about you, Ryan. I figured it out – that that's why you don't drink. It's not cause you're worried about being an alcoholic, it's because you're worried about being out of control. You're not a horrible person, Ryan. You're not a hopeless case. You wanna know what you are?"

She waits for me to actually answer, even though I don't want to know what description of me she's come up with. "What?"

"You're a bad drunk."

I wait for the next part, whatever it is. _'A bad drunk, who…'_ and then finish with some grand summation of all my faults. But she doesn't say anything else, and it seems like she just means what she said. I'm a bad drunk? Well, that's putting it lightly…

"You got carried away when you were drinking," she continues, seeing my confusion. "Ryan, did you kill anyone? Did you beat anyone senseless? Did you rob a bank? No, you hit on a stripper that you thought was your girlfriend, because you suck at being drunk."

Ok, she was making this sound too normal. Like I was just like any other guy who had too much…

* * *

I watch the emotions flicker over his face, and sigh internally. I wonder how long this is going to take, because it's getting hard trying to resist the urge to rip his clothes off and use him like a – how did I phrase it? – jungle gym? I glance up at him again, and he looks like he's starting to get it.

He seems to think that he's some person who should be treated differently than everyone else. And not in a vain way, like most people. It's like the opposite with him. Instead of thinking he should be on a pedestal, he thinks he should… I don't know, dig a hole so he can be lower than all of us. He always judges himself ten times as harshly as everyone else. Like if Seth was driving, and backed into another car, it would just be a fender-bender, something to joke about. But God forbid _he_ back into another car. Then it's a felony, a tragedy caused by his inability to _blah, blah, blah_. Its bullshit, and I wish he'd get over it.

I can see the light in his head flicker on. Finally. "See," I say out loud, making sure he got it. "You're no different than any other guy who goes to Vegas and does something stupid. And there is no way in hell I'm letting you out of this relationship that easily."

He finally looks me in the eye, and something changes. There's just enough time for a wave of excitement to shoot through my stomach before his lips are on mine, hard and insistent and _so damn good_. His hands grip my waist almost painfully and he walks me backwards until I hit the kitchen island, the lip of the countertop digging into the small of my back.

I'm not sure which one of us moaned, but I'm pretty sure it's me, because I'm a lot more vocal than he is. But either way, there's a moan, and he runs one of his hands up my body to grip the back of my head. I don't know how he does this to me – make me go from being annoyed and a little angry with him to just being incredibly turned on. Maybe it's because I love him. Maybe it's because I know he's a really great guy, so I can't ever _really_ be mad at him. Or maybe it's because he's rocking his hips against me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth and biting it gently. Dear God, I hope Summer doesn't come back any time soon.

* * *

Fuck, why was I going to break up with her again? Right, fear of commitment, panic over morality, etcetera. I think I might actually be the biggest idiot in the world, to give this up. I would have to be insane to give up a girl who lets me do this to her. Not just this – the kissing and the groping – but all the things she lets me do to her. And I've done some seriously fucked up shit to her – and no, I'm not talking about breaking her heart or something, I'm talking about the things she lets me do to her body. Fuck, I love her so much.

Right now I'm debating which hand I want to use to start taking off her clothes, and I decide to let go of the back of her head because the other one's on her ass, and I love her ass.

"Ryan," she moans at me, tugging at my shirt desperately, and I remember why I try not to wear button down shirts around her. She's way too impatient to work the little buttons, and usually ends up ripping them off. But I thought I'd be breaking up with her, hence the button down.

I'm impossibly hard against her stomach because I've been thinking about this all week, and I need to be in her, _now_. It takes every ounce of self-control to drag my lips away from her, putting a good three inches space between us. She looks at me curiously, and I don't feel like explaining, so I grab her by the arm and half pull, half throw her so she stumbles into the kitchen table. There's a squeak of surprise as her hips hit the edge, and she catches herself on her arms. She starts to straighten up, but my hands go to her shoulders, forcing the top part of her body down so she's bent in half in front of me.

She lets out a loud moan of anticipation – _God I love this girl_ – and I waste no time hooking my fingers in the elastic waistband of her fluffy pink pajama bottoms and yanking them down. I can't help but think she had planned this, because she's not wearing anything underneath, and it's _so fucking hot_.

"Fuck," I moan, fumbling with my belt and the button and zipper of my jeans, and it's taking way too long to get open, probably because my hands are shaking and I'm so fucking hard it's starting to hurt. I'm vaguely aware that she's still moaning, spreading her legs for me, begging me to fuck her. I _finally_ get my pants open, and I let them slide down to my knees before stepping forward and pushing into her.

Her body arches, throwing her head back with her mouth wide open, and her hands try to find something to grab onto as I slam into her a second time. I reset my feet and place my hand on her lower back to press her into the table and give me some leverage, and I feel her actually _shaking_ below me. _Fuck._

By about the fifth time I thrust into her, she's coming, and I can feel her tighten around me, and it's so _fucking_ good it makes me lose control for a second, and I drive into her harder than I should, which makes her gasp and whimper into the table.

I need to get under some fucking control, so I pause, letting her ride out her orgasm, and I lean forward because it takes too much effort to stay upright. My arms rest on the table, holding me above her by scant inches, and I watch her shiver as I breathe against her neck. Which makes me smile, because it reminds me how into this she is; how much she wants it.

I let my head drop, pressing my lips against her spine. "You ready?" the words are muffled against her skin, and I feel – rather than see – her nod, letting out a low whine as I pull out almost completely. I slide one hand under her body, holding her hips tight as I thrust back into her, making us both moan.

"Ryan," she whispers, and I recognize that tone. So I pick up my pace, driving into her relentlessly, and I get lost in the feel of her around me, the soft skin of her back against my chest, the sounds she's making reverberating off the cold table. "Ryan!" she nearly screams, turning her head so her cheek lies against the wood, and she comes again.

"Fuck," I moan uncontrollably, "fuck, Taylor." I kiss her neck reverently because I can't reach her mouth, and I feel the familiar tightening. "Taylor, _fuck_," I totally fucking lose it, emptying myself inside her.

* * *

I kind of hope he doesn't realize how much I'm shaking, because the last thing I need is him gloating. Except right now he doesn't seem to be in any condition to _notice_ anything, because he's completely collapsed on top of me, squishing me against the table. It makes it kind of hard to breathe, but it's totally worth it, because he's muttering things into my neck that make me feel like I'm floating.

"I love you," he whispers, and I shut my eyes tight, because I don't want this to end. I don't want him to get up, because this feels like a spell, and if he gets up, it'll be over. But of course my stupid mouth opens.

"You sure?" I try to make it sound teasing, but there's definitely more than a little bit of truth to it.

"Mhmm," he rumbles, the sound vibrating into my back.

"Weren't you going to break up with me?" _Shut the hell up_. Seriously, shut the hell up. What am I trying to do? Change his mind? Except I can't help it, because there's this little scared girl inside me that _needs_ to make sure he wants to be with me out of his own desire, not just his desire for my body.

"Worst idea _ever_," he mutters, and I feel him smile. He groans slightly as he shifts, and suddenly I can breathe again. I want to cry at the loss of him when he slides out of me, but instead I place my palms on the tabletop and push myself up shakily. "Seriously," he continues on, twisting me around slowly, "I'm a very, _very_, stupid man."

A million snarky comments rush through my brain at once, but none of them come out because he places one hand on my cheek and kisses me slowly. My entire body warms over when he kisses me like that, and I can't believe how turned on I am _again_. Seems he has the same idea, because he's already hardening against my stomach.

He pulls away slightly, panting. "Bedroom?"

I nod dumbly, and he pulls me in the direction of my room. How does he do that? Make one word sound _so_ hot? Ok, so the word was 'bedroom' which usually conjures up thoughts of sex, but the way he says it…

When we get to my room, he gently ushers me in, closing and locking the door behind me. I take a deep breath, trying to make myself sound coy and not completely desperate.

"So, Ryan Atwood, what are you planning to do with me?"

He grins.

_

* * *

_

Review!


	10. Day 10

_Yay, Vegas. And oh! Over 100 reviews! Thank you guys so much, you rock my world. Seriously._

* * *

I don't open my eyes.

Instead, I bury my face into the pillow and let the memories of last night wash over me.

There aren't many times I'd use the phrasing '_make love'_, mostly because it sounds cheesy and, despite what people think, I'm really not that big of a romantic. But also, it's because that's not how Ryan and I do it. When it's long and drawn out, I call it having sex; when it's hard and fast I call it fucking. But I'm pretty sure last night qualifies as – I really don't like the phrase – _making love_.

After our initial rounds – first on the kitchen table then once against the door of my room and another after we _finally_ made it to the bed – things had slowed down a little. Those first three times had been intense: hard, fast, and desperate. But after that third time – after he rolled off to the side and finally let me close my legs – he'd gone back to being broody and weird. I'd asked him bluntly if he was going to break up with me, and I think I got the courage because I'd had bunch of orgasms, which usually calms me down a bit.

He had turned to me – face completely dead – and said no. Then he kissed me, long and slow and turning my muscles into liquid. _That_ kiss had led to the sex that couldn't just be called sex. It had been slow – God, impossibly slow – but it wasn't like it normally was. Normally if we took it slow, it was either because we had all day and there was no need to rush, or because he was trying to tease the fuck out of me. But this one? This one he had rocked his hips slowly into me, staring me straight in the eye the entire time, and it was probably one of the most intense experiences of my life. Just remembering it makes my skin tingle, and I reach out my arm to find him.

Except he's not there, and my head lifts out of the pillow. Sunlight hits me, and I have to blink for a good thirty seconds before my eyes adjust enough to see that, no, he's definitely not in bed with me. He's not even in the room. I start to panic – because, hello?, the boy had been ready to dump me yesterday – until I see the little piece of paper propped up on the bedside table. I reach out and grab it, twisting to sit up, and I wince because I'm a little sore. I think I may have to talk to Ryan about how forceful he is, because I can see light bruises forming on my hips from where his hands gripped me. Huh… I hadn't even felt that last night. Anyway, I open the letter and read his familiar, utilitarian script.

_I decided to leave a note because you probably think I freaked out and ran. Actually, Seth called at about seven this morning (I'm sure he waited as long as he could). He said something about an emergency, and you look pretty out of it, so I'm going to go see what his problem is. I have a feeling it may have something to do with Summer._

_I'll be back around noon, and I'll bring lunch. We should probably talk about everything._

_Ryan_

I shake my head; leave it to Seth to ruin what was turning out to be one of the best nights (or mornings, to be more honest, because most of the sex had taken place after midnight) of my life. I don't bother to change, because I'll be needing a shower at some point, and also because my legs are really sore, so putting on real pants doesn't sound like the most appealing plan.

Summer's in the kitchen, dressed in her bathrobe, hair in a messy bun, leaning against the counter and staring at a newspaper spread out on the surface. She looks up and glares at me over her mug of coffee, then looks pointedly over at the kitchen table, then back at me. My eyes follow hers, and I feel the heat rise in my face, because obviously Ryan and I… made a slight mess there last night, and didn't bother to clean it up in our haste. Summer's thrown a towel over the wet spots – _gross_ – and I shrug apologetically.

"So I take it you and Ryan are ok?" she goes back to reading her paper, and I reach under the sink for a clean sponge and some disinfectant.

"Yeah," I begin scrubbing the tabletop. "Obviously we made up."

"Did you talk to him about moving in?" she looks up at me, finishing off her coffee and placing the mug into the sink. I sigh.

"No. We really didn't talk that much." Summer wrinkles her face in disgust. "Except for the first part after you left. We talked about him breaking up with me."

"What?" she twists her face even more, looking half confused, half annoyed. "_He_ was gonna break up with _you_? He was the one who hit on slutty strippers…"

"Well, that's why," I stand up, the floor and table now clean. "He said something about me deserving better," I wave my hands vaguely, rolling my eyes. "I'm not exactly sure what his idiot reasoning was, but I told him he wasn't allowed to break up with me, and that was the end of that." Summer nods at me proudly. "So when did you get in this morning?" I ask suggestively, raising an eyebrow and grinning at her.

"About one," she shrugs, and I'm a little confused. Why didn't she go to Seth's? "By the way," she adds, "you and Ryan are _loud_."

"Why didn't you go to Seth's?" I ignore her comment about my… less than quiet performance last night. I can't help that Ryan makes me scream…

"I did." My mind get's off _that_ track, and back onto my friend's relationship. "We talked a little, and then I came home."

"Is everything ok?" I ask warily, flashing back to Ryan's note and the mention of an emergency.

"Oh, yeah," she says breezily, sweeping past me and towards the bathroom. "Except I cut him off until the honeymoon."

* * *

I try not to laugh at how pathetic Seth is, sprawled out on the couch and whining like a bitch about Summer not 'boinking' him anymore until the honeymoon. I've been trying to tell him – for the past half a fucking hour – that the wedding is less than a week away, and he's gone longer without. But apparently the fact that he _knows_ he can't have it makes it unbearable. I grip the armrests of the chair I'm sitting in, because it keeps me from feeling angry that he woke me up at seven a.m. on a fucking Sunday morning, and I'd had to leave the comfort of a nice warm bed – and a nice warm Taylor – to come deal with this.

"Ok," I exhale, "I'm going back to Taylor's because – unlike you – I can actually get laid." Seth makes a whining noise and flails around on the couch, and I ignore him because I don't want to encourage this type of behavior. Seriously, dealing with Seth is like dealing with a five-year-old sometimes.

I head out the door, but I don't go straight to Taylor's. I told her I'd be back around noon, and it's only about eight-thirty, so I have a couple more hours to get my errands done. I'll grab some breakfast first, then I need to check in at my office to see how many calls and important notes I've missed while I've been away, then I'll head to the pawn shop, then I should probably get some gas in the Jeep, then pick up lunch, then Taylor's.

* * *

Turns out Summer's still angry at Seth, hence the ban on sex. But does she tell him this? Oh, no, because _that_ would involve sharing their true feelings, and they can't have _that,_ can they? So instead of telling him she's angry, she's cutting him off because it will be 'more romantic' if they don't have sex until the wedding.

I don't tell her it's only a week away, and that kinda defeats the whole purpose.

My cell phone sounds from my bedroom where I left it, and I rush in there – thankful for the excuse to _not_ have to make some comment to Summer. When I see Ryan's name on the display, I smile.

"Hey," I greet, realizing I sound _way_ too perky (and a little out of breath from running in here). He seems to notice it too, because I hear him laugh softly on the other end.

"Hey, I was just calling to make sure you got my note, and what do you want for lunch?" In the background I hear lots of noise, which can only mean he's somewhere very public – probably walking down the line of shops on Main or something.

"Yes, I got your note, and whatever you want to eat. I don't really have a preference." That's a complete lie, but for some reason I have this urge to make him happy. "So what was Seth's emergency?" I hear him groan on the other end, and I giggle a little, sinking down onto my bed.

"Apparently Summer cut him off."

"Yeah, she told me," I'm grinning like an idiot, and I can tell he's doing that thing where he's trying not to smile.

"Poor bastard won't stop whining about it," he grumbles.

"Hey, be nice to him," I tease, making my voice all pouty. "Unless you want _me_ to cut _you_ off…" There's a pause, and I start to panic, because I hope he didn't take me seriously. Shit. What if he really does break up with me now…

"You wouldn't dare," his voice growls at me over the line, and I relax.

"Wouldn't I?" I wish I could see the look on his face, because I love it when he gets all uncomfortable and twitchy.

"You wouldn't last a day," he challenges. Oh, I so could.

"You wanna bet?"

"What? Wait, Taylor, no…"

I don't let him finish, instead flipping my cell shut. He should know not to challenge me. I mean, seriously. He knows how competitive I get. So bring it on, Ryan Atwood, I will crush you.

* * *

Fuck.

What the hell did I just do? Did I seriously just make my girlfriend decide not to have sex with me anymore? Oh, real smooth, Atwood.

"Did you want something?" the guy asks again, and I glare at him. He sighs, and goes back to sorting a box of crap – I assume into piles of 'throw away' and 'burn for the sake of all that is good and holy'.

This decision should be easy, because I've already freaking made it. I've already decided I'm not giving this to her, because it's too much. I should pawn it and get my money back. Then I can give that money to Seth, to make up for his loss in Vegas, and hopefully get him back into Summer's good graces. But for some reason, I can't let go of the box – I can't give it to this grubby man.

And that's when it hits me: there's no way I'm letting this guy touch it, because it belongs to Taylor.

Well shit, so much for plan A. I wish I had taken the time to come up with a plan B. Either way, I leave that dirty little pawn shop and head for my car. I need gas, and then I'll pick up some Korean – because Taylor likes Korean – and then it's back to her place to convince her not to cut me off. I suppose I'll have to beg, which actually doesn't sound so bad, because the kind of begging I have in mind involves Taylor naked on the bed and writhing as I make her scream.

The thought makes my pulse pick up, so I get into my car and head out.

* * *

The smell of Korean food hits me the minute he walks in the door, and I'm reminded how hungry I am. He puts the bags on the counter, and I tear into them eagerly, pulling out my favorites. I'm vaguely aware – as I shove the food down my throat – that he's staring at me as he eats his own meal a little more sedately. Three quarters of the way through, it gets to be too annoying, so I look up at him, and let out an aggravated "what?"

"Just wondering why you aren't choking to death," he shrugs, looking amused. Oh, he's _really_ asking for it.

"Very funny," I mutter around my food. He just shakes his head and continues eating.

Silence falls again, and I can't help but feel like it's slightly uncomfortable. And not on my part – _I_ have no reason to be weird. But there's just something about the way he's sitting that's just a little too stiff that puts me on edge. It could also be the way he's looking at me – staring, but moving his eyes away every time I look back. He can't still be feeling guilty, could he? I thought we'd covered this. I open my mouth to say something, looking down at the counter, when something catches my eye.

"What the hell is that on your wrist?"

* * *

Shit.

I was kinda hoping the whole tattoo thing wouldn't come up. I mean, she'd figure it out eventually, because she's not stupid, and I can't wear long sleeves forever. But I was planning on telling her when she was… in a better mood. Like when I was _begging_ and she was screaming. She's definitely more open to hearing bad news if her legs are open too.

When I don't answer, she drops her fork and grabs my arm, pulling it towards her and pushing up the sleeve. I wince when she looks up at me accusingly. There's this thing she has against tattoos, something about polluting your body, or some other such bullshit.

It's like smoking – she definitely put a stop to that habit. I'd picked it up again in college when we were apart. I mean, it was college, everyone did it, and it made the schoolwork and the distance from Seth, Summer, and Taylor more bearable. Not that I would have admitted to the Taylor part back then – after she left for France again, I'd pretended for four years that I was over her. Then she'd come back, the day after her graduation, and come to Berkeley. I wasn't even surprised – not really – that she had no second thoughts about coming to find me. She found me, asked me if I had a girlfriend, then told me we were getting back together when I said no. I don't remember putting up much of a fight.

Anyway, back to the tattoo. She has this thing about your body being a temple, so why would you want to put graffiti all over it? Not that I ever planned on getting a tattoo in the first place – they bring back a few too many memories of prison – but it's not quite the crisis situation she imagines. I take a deep breath.

"Look, we were drunk, and Seth made me…" Ok, so that's not the greatest explanation ever, but she's making me nervous, because she's still frowning down at the thing.

"Actually, it makes more sense that Seth would pick this out," she murmurs, tracing her finger over it. I snort, because it's true. Especially given what was on his mind that night… I glance down at the four suits of the cards tattooed on my inner wrist in black: spade, heart, diamond, club. I'm just glad Seth didn't ask for color, cause I heard that hurts like a bitch. As it is, I'm not that unhappy with it. It's relatively small, the four little symbols shaded black, spade and heart in the first row, diamond and club right below them. It's not overdone, which is me. Plus, it definitely has a meaning…

"I know you don't like tattoos, but it's already there…" She says absolutely nothing, still staring at the goddamned thing. Then she lifts my wrist, and my stomach jumps as she presses her lips to it, eyes flicking up to me as she does. "So I take it you're ok with it?" my voice cracks a little, and I lick my suddenly dry lips. She nods, smiling coyly at me. She lowers my hand to the table, but doesn't let go of my wrist, and her other hand continues tracing that blessed tattoo.

"Did you know," she begins, voice low, "that the four suits we use are originally from France?" I shake my head no, because I never really cared enough. Usually I just cared about _which_ suits I had in my hand, and whether they were better than the other guys. "The spade," she presses the tip of her finger to the symbol, "is associated with death, and it's the highest ranking." She moves her finger to the heart next to it, "the heart is love," she bends down to kiss my wrist again, which makes said organ in my chest jump wildly. "The diamond symbolizes wealth," she smirks, "and the club is war." Her eyes look back up at me, and she stops moving, one finger still pressed to the tattoo.

* * *

I can't believe how freaking turned on I am by a tattoo. I'm not even sure what it is about it – it's not like I have a thing for bad boys… Ok, maybe I do – _what girl doesn't? _– but it's not like having a tattoo suddenly makes him _'bad'_. It's just that when I put my finger to it – my lips – I can feel his pulse below the ink, steady and strong and hot.

"How do you know this stuff?" he murmurs, and I can tell he doesn't really care how I know, because he's rising slowly from his seat, making his way around the counter. His hands rest on my hips, and I can feel his hot breath moving the hair near my ear, and I can't stop the shiver that runs down my spine. But I shrug, mumbling something about '_knowing a thing or two'_. I feel him tug my hips until I slide off the stool, and he turns me around, the look in his eyes almost making my knees give out. He bends down to kiss me…

"Didn't I cut you off?" I whisper, feeling a little thrill as his eyes spark with annoyance and anger.

"Are you serious?" he mutters angrily, and my heart speeds up.

"Of course I'm serious," I make myself sound stern, placing my hands on his shoulders and pushing him gently away. His jaw clenches, and he glares at me. Then something changes, and he places one hand on my waist.

"Are you _positive_?" he whispers roughly, sliding the hand down to trace the seam of my jeans until it comes to rest between my legs. I take a sharp breath – God, I need to learn to control myself better, because he's looking smug. "Taylor, I asked you a question," he sounds a hell of a lot more sure of himself now, and I feel the anger rising in me. And I'm about to say something like 'damn right I'm sure' when he presses the denim into me, making me gasp. He rubs me through my jeans, slowly, leisurely, and I'm a little ashamed at the way I'm gasping. "Taylor…" his voice is teasing, and he's giving me that cocksure smile he gets when he _knows_ he's won an argument.

"Yes, I'm sure," I say as resolutely as I can. He frowns, and I almost moan – _almost _– when he drops to his knees in front of me, giving me one last smirk before he unbuttons my pants and pulls down the zipper.

The next thing I know, my jeans are around my feet, and he's spreading my legs apart and kissing the skin of my thighs. I rest my elbows on the counter behind me to brace myself, because it's all I can really do as his tongue flicks against my clit, the rough surface making the muscles in my legs tremble. I'm lost in the sensation of his tongue pushing into me, lips sucking, teeth grazing, nose hitting my clit with every movement.

There's a point when all my other senses dull; my vision blurs, sounds become muffled, and all I can do is _feel_ his mouth working me, his rough hands gripping my thighs, the cold tile of the counter on my arms, the ledge of it digging into my back. I hear a cry from somewhere, and it's only in the back of my head that I realize it's _me_, and then there's that dizzying release, but he doesn't stop, he keeps going, licking, sucking, biting, until I come again.

He catches me when I start to fall, standing up and holding me between his body and the counter. Through my haze I feel his lips come to hover near mine, and I can smell myself on him, which just makes my body shake. "Are you _sure_?" he whispers into my ear, ghosting his lips over my skin.

I can feel him, already half hard against me, and I just want to give into him, until I take a look at his face, and he's so completely smug it makes me angry. I lean forward to kiss him, sucking his tongue into my mouth which makes him groan, and turn us around so now _he's_ the one with his back to the counter. I pull away with a smile, and bend down…

I grab the waist of my jeans and pull them up, over my still-damp thighs, and sigh. "I'm very sure, but thank you anyway." He stares at me in absolute horror, like he thinks I'm kidding or something.

I'm so not.

"Now, I have to go and help Summer supervise the food deliveries, but feel free to help yourself to the peach torte in the fridge." I grab my purse off the counter and head toward the door. "Oh," I turn, feeling absolutely justified when he still looks sullen, "consider this your punishment for going to Vegas, getting drunk, hitting on strippers, gambling, getting a tattoo, getting arrested, and then trying to break up with me."

* * *

The door shuts, and with it goes my hope that she's just bluffing. She's not, and deep down I know that. Because she's Taylor Townsend, and when you challenge her, she doesn't back down. I should've just groveled, instead of trying to make her break. Stupid pride.

At least there's peach torte.

_

* * *

_

Review, and distract me from the crushing hell that is school.


	11. Day 11

_Ok, I totally forgot to thank Ave last chapter for the tattoo idea. So… thanks a bunch, dearie! _

_Enjoy more Vegasy goodness._

* * *

I'm jolted out of sleep by the constant pounding in my head. Only, apparently, it's not in my head – it's the front door. I'm not quite sure I believe it, because my clock is telling me it's about three in the morning, and who the hell would be knocking at fucking three in the morning? And it's not stopping, which means Seth isn't freaking getting it, so I guess it's up to me.

Except I've tangled my sheets badly, and there's a struggle to get out of them without falling on the stupid floor. I must have tossed and turned too much in my sleep – a dream, I believe, involving Taylor, soapy water, and a very big sponge. Finally I'm out, and I stumble blindly through the apartment to where the knocking's getting louder and more persistent.

And suddenly, after I open the door, I wonder if I'm really awake, because Taylor's standing there, hair a mess, expression half dazed, in a trench coat that's hiding whatever she's wearing – which can't be much, considering her legs are bare. I blink slowly – just in case – but she doesn't go away. "Taylor."

She sighs loudly, pushing past me into the apartment and muttering something about '_finally'_. Finally? Oh, right. It took me a good five minutes to wake the hell up and get to the door. Because I was asleep, which reminds me…

"What are you doing here? It's three in the morning," I close the door, locking it again, and follow her into the kitchen area where she's setting her purse down on the counter. She sighs again, rubbing the palms of her hands into her eyes, and I notice that they're red and she looks a little pale, and I start to panic. Is she sick?

"It's Seth and Summer," she mumbles, dropping her hands and giving me an annoyed look. "They were making so much noise." I can't help but snort in laughter, especially when Taylor pouts at me. "It's not funny! I was trying to sleep!"

"Well, I'm glad they made up," I smirk. At least now Seth will stop whining all the time, and it had the added bonus of getting Taylor over here. Plus, maybe now that Summer's let Seth back in, Taylor will stop this whole 'cutting me off' thing.

"They didn't," she sighs, starting to unbutton her coat. "Seth came over to apologize, at like, _midnight_, because he 'couldn't sleep', and they've been yelling ever since." She finally gets her coat off, throwing it over the back of the chair, and I wonder why the hell she didn't change before she came over here. She's wearing this skimpy red thing, which, I'm assuming, is supposed to be pajamas, but looks more like lingerie, but she doesn't seem to notice. "I asked them to quiet down, but they just yelled at me. Well, Summer yelled, I think Seth was glad for the distraction."

"So, is there a reason you had to come over _here_?" I swallow thickly – trying _not_ to look at the red thing – and she looks at me in confusion. She opens her mouth once, then closes it, and I see panic take over her face.

"Oh. I'm sorry," she grabs her trench off the chair and starts putting it back on, head bowed, and _shit_ she thinks I'm trying to break up with her again. I never should've said anything – that was a stupid idea.

"Taylor," I grab her upper arms, freezing her in place. "Taylor," I make my voice more commanding until she looks up at me. I sigh. "I just meant, is there a reason you had to come over here, wearing _that_, when you've cut me off?"

"What?" she looks down at herself, at the red thing which is showing through her unbuttoned coat. "Oh!" She starts to giggle, and I relax my arms enough for her to move forward and start laughing into my chest. I wait for her to stop – she gets like this when she's tired. "I'm sorry, Ryan," she hugs me, voice dipping lower as she calms down. "You're not cut off anymore," she lifts her head away from my chest with a smile, and I grin back.

"Well, that's a relief," I joke, which makes her smile get wider, which, in turn, makes my heart jump a little.

"Did you want to?" she asks, waving vaguely at my room.

As much as I want to say yes, because she's looking extra hot with her hair a mess and her coat half open, she also looks incredibly tired. "No, let's just get some sleep," I kiss her lightly – pulling away quickly before my brain shuts down and my body takes over. "And maybe we'll get you something else to sleep in…" I mutter and she giggles, leaning into me as I direct her to my room.

Once in my room, she changes into one of my t-shirts and an old pair of boxers that keep trying to fall down because she's about half my size, but we make it into bed and she's out the minute her head hits the pillow. It takes a little longer for me to fall asleep, because she looks even hotter – if that's possible – in my clothes than she did in that red thing. But when she sighs, wrapping her arms even tighter around me, I feel the familiar pull of sleep.

* * *

I wake up feeling _quite_ content, thank you very much – especially because Ryan's still asleep, and he's just so pretty… Well, maybe _pretty_ isn't the best word, but he looks so peaceful. I wish I could wake up like this every day.

There's a small noise, and a deep sigh, and a shift, and he opens his eyes. "Hey," he mumbles sleepily, turning on his side to face me with a smile. I almost don't want to say anything, because what if I ruin this moment? But it's me, and I just can't keep my stupid mouth shut.

"Did you ever get my voicemail?" I ask, and I can't look at his face. So instead, I start playing with his wife beater, like it's suddenly very interesting.

"Which one?" he laughs, and I blush. Right, I forgot I called him about a million times.

"The first one," I feel him tense, and _crap_. "Where I said we needed to talk?"

"Yeah." Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut? Now he's all tense, and one glance up at his face shows he's brooding. He turns onto his back, and I suddenly feel cold. "Sorry I didn't call you back. I was a little preoccupied." I'm not sure if 'preoccupied' means 'drunk' or what, but it couldn't have been because of the jail thing. This was at least a day before he was arrested, so that can't be the reason. Then I notice that his eyes are on the top drawer of his dresser, jaw clenching and unclenching. But then he sees me watching him, and tears his gaze away from it, looking back at me. I'll have to investigate _that_ later.

"Well, what I wanted to talk about," I can't say the rest, and he quirks his eyebrow at me. It's now or never, Townsend. "What are you going to do when Summer moves in here?" He freezes for a second, then starts to grin.

"Ok, that was _not_ what I was expecting," he laughs, rolling back onto his side to face me again. I decide not to ask what he _was_ expecting, just in case it's a diversion tactic to avoid this question. He kisses my forehead, "but, see, I _do_ have this fantastic girlfriend…"

"_Really?_" I gasp, looking shocked. He laughs.

"Yeah, really. And I didn't ask her before, because I didn't want to force myself on her, but I was kinda hoping I could move into her place."

"Well, I think she'd be just fine with that arrangement," I murmur, leaning forward to kiss him. He breaks it off, looking intense and obviously done with the 'my girlfriend' joke.

"Taylor, do you wanna live together?" Obviously we've already covered this, but he seems to want to make it official, and his question makes my stomach twist. There's a breathless pause – and when I say 'breathless' I mean it, because I can't take a breath to answer.

"Yes," I manage, finally, and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight to him. I'm starting to think he wants to test out my promise of no longer being cut off, when my cell goes off. He grunts in annoyance as I get out of bed and head towards my purse. He opens his mouth to say something – probably about not answering it – when his goes off as well. "Summer," I read off the display as he picks his up from the nightstand.

"Seth," he replies, and we both sigh.

"Hello?" I answer, and I hear him do the same.

"Taylor, I don't know where you are, but get your ass to the Cohen's place right now." Summer's voice is panicked and a little confused.

"Is everything ok?" I start to panic myself. I hope she and Seth didn't break up…

"I don't know," she mutters, and I hear the confusion start to win over panic. "Everything is just really weird over here, and I need you. Soon." The line goes dead, and I look up at Ryan, whose face is twisted up in confusion.

"Yeah, sure," he tells Seth, and hangs up. "Seth wants me to-"

"Go over the Cohen's?" I finish, and he nods. "Yeah, that's what Summer said, too."

"This can't be good," he mutters darkly, getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

No. It can't.

* * *

Things are tense in the car as I drive, and Taylor keeps looking out the window worriedly. I can't help but grip the steering wheel harder, because I'm just imagining what Seth's done _now_. I mean, arguing is nothing new to them, but with the whole Vegas thing, and the wedding just three days away, Summer might just be tense and/or angry enough to break it off with him. Which, of course, means three grueling days of repair work for Taylor and me.

"Bullit's back," Taylor comments, pointing at the man's car. We never did figure out where he went. If Bullit's back, it can't exactly be _helping_ the Seth and Summer situation. "That can't be good." Sometimes I wonder if she can read my mind.

We get out of the car and head inside, and we find the entire family – extended and all – gathered in the kitchen. Taylor immediately rushes to Summer's side. "Is everything ok?" Summer looks at her with a frown, nodding like she's not sure what Taylor's talking about.

"What's going on?" I ask the entire room, and everyone looks a little confused. Finally Seth speaks up.

"Bullit's back."

"Yeah, we got that from the car…" I look around, except Bullit's not in the kitchen. "What does that have to do with…"

"BANG!"

I jump a little as Bullit enters the kitchen with a grin, and it's only on a double take that I notice the blonde woman next to him. What the hell?

"Ryan!" he greets with a grin before his eyes flick over to Taylor. His smile gets wider. "And if it isn't the little French maid!" She looks startled, looking around the kitchen. Sandy, Seth, and Frank all avert their eyes, but I can see Seth trying to hide a smile. She glares at me, because she really is brilliant, and I'm pretty sure she knows I told them about our little games.

"Bullit," she greets back. "And…" she trails off, looking at the very blonde, very tan, girl next to him.

"Oh, I'm Katie," she says, voice bubbly and face bright.

"The new wife!" Bullit roars.

"What?"

"Yeah, that's what we said," Seth mutters.

* * *

"She looks younger than _us_," I whisper sharply to Summer. We're both staring into the kitchen, where Sandy, Kirsten, Julie, Frank, Bullit and the new wife are chatting.

"I know. It's gross," she whispers back. Kaitlin's next to us, eyeing down the new woman – Katie – suspiciously. I know how protective she is over Bullit.

"She's a stripper." We both look at Kaitlin, whose arms are crossed, eyebrow raised. We don't try to argue, because we should've figured. Of _course_ Bullit would marry a stripper.

While drunk.

In Vegas.

"Go Bullit," Seth nudges Ryan, who just shakes his head. I can't believe Seth just said that. _Seriously_. Summer turns to face him, eye twitching and rage-blackout already in swing. Ryan shoots me a look, and I want to laugh, because we both knew this would happen.

"'_Go Bullit'_?" Summer hisses, stepping towards him. "Is that what you want? To marry a stripper?"

"What?" Seth backs up a step, and its last night all over again. "No, Summer…"

"Cause if you want to marry a stripper," Summer's voice raises a few octaves, and everyone in the kitchen stops talking, "then go ahead Cohen!" She slaps him on the arm, hard, it seems, because he winces. "Go to Vegas and marry a stripper, cause you're sure as hell not marrying me!"

Everyone's silent, and I don't know what to do. The Cohens look stricken, the Coopers worried, and even Bullit doesn't say anything. I expected Katie to look embarrassed, or at least a little angry, at Summer's obvious disdain for strippers, but she just looks worried, which makes me like her.

But there's a problem, because I hate silences. Any time there's a silence – awkward or not – I have to talk. And I can feel it – the rant – bubbling up my throat. I clamp my lips together to stop it, but I know that'll only hold it back for a little. I don't want to rant, because it'll be about something stupid that will just make everything worse.

"Seth doesn't want to marry a stripper," I hear Ryan comment lazily, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen and inspecting his nails like Summer didn't just call off the wedding. Summer glares at him, but he doesn't flinch. "I mean, you should've heard him in Vegas. He wouldn't shut up about you. It was all 'Summer hates when girls wear shoes like that', and 'Summer would love that dress'."

I watch as Summer looks uncertain, glancing over at Seth, and I want to give Ryan a great big hug. Somehow I doubt Seth said those _exact _things, but I don't doubt that he wouldn't shut up about Summer. He's so whipped.

"Whatever," Summer mutters, grabbing me by the elbow and heading out the door. I toss Ryan one grateful look over my shoulder before we're outside.

* * *

"Hey!" her perky voice comes over the line, and I smile. I love that her voice can brighten my day – and what a day it's been. Seriously, Seth hasn't stopped talking since the minute Summer left the Cohens. Half the words that come out of his mouth are thanking me for saving his wedding, the other half still panicking that she'll change her mind again.

"Hey," I say back, a little more calmly than she had. "How's Summer?"

"Down to a simmer," she sighs. "I don't know what's wrong with her, but she's been getting worse lately."

"It's probably just nerves over the wedding," I rationalize. I mean, who wouldn't be nervous three days before their wedding? Besides Bullit, apparently.

"I guess," she doesn't sound sure. "I'm still gonna talk to her, though. Maybe not today, cause I'd rather not run the risk of having her murder me… in fact, do you think I could stay at your place tonight? I think Summer may need some space. She keeps eyeing me down…"

"Sure," I answer – maybe just a little too quickly – "I'll see you tonight."

"Great."

* * *

"Hey," his voice is low and a little husky when he opens the door and pulls me inside. I know that voice – it's his '_I want to do bad things to you'_ voice. Keep it cool, Townsend.

"Hey, thanks for letting me crash here," I say brightly, as if I didn't notice his tone, as if I didn't sleep here a lot anyway.

"No problem," he shuts the door as I put my purse on the table next to the couch. "Although, I expect some form of payment for putting you up for the night…"

I pretend to be shocked, despite the fact that I'm incredibly turned on. I love when he gets like this, when he drops his broodiness and gets all horny and demanding. It's so hot. "Why, Mr. Atwood!" I press a hand to my heart, as if taken aback, "however can I repay you?"

He leers – actually leers – at me, and stalks forward, sliding his hands around my waist and brings his mouth to hover near my ear. "Well," his hot breath makes me shiver, "you could start by taking off your clothes…" Ok, I really need to control the noises I make, because I let out a pathetic whimper, and then an actual moan when he slides his hands down to squeeze my ass. "And then," he continues hotly, using his hands to press my hips forward into him, "if you're feeling very generous, you could get on your knees…"

"Oh, I don't know if letting me sleep here for the night warrants _that_," I smirk when he pouts at me, "but it definitely warrants me taking off my clothes…"

* * *

Oh, it definitely warrants her taking off her clothes. I press my lips to hers roughly, and she moans into me, hands going to the back of my neck to pull me closer. And it's all well and good, except that Seth has a habit of making untimely appearances, so I pull away, letting go of her body as well to get under some sense of control.

"Bedroom?" I suggest breathlessly, and she nods wordlessly, but makes no attempt to move towards my room. I can't help but smirk, leaning down to give her a hard kiss before grabbing her wrist and pulling her across the apartment. She follows me, tripping once or twice over her own two feet – which, for some reason, I find incredibly hot. Maybe it's because_ I'm_ making her this uncoordinated; I've taken away her ability to walk properly.

I manage to get the door open with minimal fumbling, swinging her inside and kicking it shut again. She stumbles over to my bed, catching her balance as she almost falls onto the mattress. I keep our distance, because I'd like to enjoy this, and if I go over there now, it'll be over _very_ soon. And it's kind of hard _not_ going over there, cause she's looking really hot and totally fuckable with her hair a mess and her lips red and swollen. "Take your clothes off," I command, using that tone of voice that makes her do whatever I want. Except now, apparently, because she shakes her head at me, biting her lip.

"You know," she manages to breathe out, "I was kind of hoping you'd strip for me."

I'm about to laugh at how ridiculous that suggestion is – I can't dance for the life of me – but then I see the look in her eyes. They're completely glazed over, and she's panting hard, thinking about it. I figure she's done this for me enough times, so I place my hand on the top button of my shirt and pop it open. She sits down on the bed with a whimper, and I smirk.

* * *

Oh God, he's actually doing it. It was a joke, really, when I said it – although I won't lie and say there wasn't a small flicker of hope that he'd go for it. And he was. I drop onto the bed, some noise escaping my throat as he gives that cocky little smirk of his and lets his hand trail up to the top button of his shirt. He pops them open slowly, one at a time, letting his fingers play over his wife beater clad torso.

I feel myself get hot – well, hotter – and the ache between my legs build as his over shirt drops from his arms, and he slides his hands down his stomach to grip the edge of his wife beater, which he pulls up slowly – dear God, so slowly – making me bite my lip as he lifts it over his head. Then he trails one hand over his abs, which are – thank you very much – incredible, down to his jeans, and he pauses. I look up at him, and he's smirking at me, one eyebrow lifted, and I nod, flicking my eyes back to his crotch.

He looks absolutely triumphant as I moan, one hand moving absently to the hem of my skirt, and up to where my panties are absolutely soaked. I begin to rub myself as he opens the button of his jeans, pulling the zipper down so fucking slowly I want to scream. But I don't; instead I spread my legs wider, hand slipping under the tiny scrap of fabric to push a finger inside myself, and he pushes his pants down, kicking off his shoes before stepping out of the jeans. He's hard, I can tell, and I add a second finger when he drops the boxers – a little too quickly for a _proper_ stripper, but one look in his eyes shows why.

His expression is absolutely feral, eyes dark and glinting as he watches my hand work under my skirt. So I lay back for him, lifting my skirt up with one hand and spreading my legs wide and I hear him swear under his breath. Then there's footsteps, and he grabs the waistband of my panties, ripping them off my body and throwing them across the room. He swears again as I continue to get myself off, and I can tell he's debating whether or not he wants to watch me finish, or if he wants to fuck me now.

Apparently he decides on the second one, because he grabs my wrist, pulling my hand aside so he can get the skirt off, then tugs me upright to pull my shirt off too, and my bra goes as well – all in record time. "Fuck," he breathes, pushing me back down and getting on top of me, "you're so fucking hot, you know that?" I can't respond, because he pushes into me, and my mind shuts down.

There's something that happens to me sometimes, where my body stops reacting to what my brain tells it to do, and just goes off on its own. Like right now, I can feel my body work against him as he thrusts into me, but I'm not sure it's my brain controlling it. It's like my body has a life of its own, and doesn't give a shit what my head wants.

Not that my head wants this to stop, but that's beside the point.

Although maybe it's a blessing, because it gives my brain leave to focus on other things, like what he's saying –his breathless curses and moans – and the way he looks hovering above me – eyes dark and dilated, jaw clenched, entire upper body tense as he holds himself up and thrusts uncontrollably. That, coupled with the way he feels moving inside me makes my orgasm rise quickly, slamming into me almost violently.

I black out and as I ride my high, all I'm aware of is his shallow breathing and the feel of him inside me. The next thing I know, his heavy weight is pressing me into the mattress, and I dimly realize he must have reached his breaking point, because he's no longer pounding away at me; he's apologizing for crushing me, and he promises to move once he regains control of his body. I don't care. I like this feeling – his heavy weight, his breath against my neck. It's comforting, and if I didn't care about breathing easily, I'd want to stay like this forever.

He does roll off me eventually, scooping me up and pulling me tight against his side. I fall asleep like that – curled up next to him and thinking that, yes, I could definitely stay like this forever.

_

* * *

_

Review!


	12. Day 12

_Umm… I believe this may be what everyone's been waiting for since… day 5. Wow. Sorry for the wait, I guess…_

_Enjoy the little black box of secrets!_

* * *

If it weren't so annoying, it'd actually be scary how much I'm obsessed. I mean, how can _one look_, just _one glance_, make me so fixated?

Summer huffs angrily, twirling on the podium and frowning at herself in the mirror. "You look amazing," I tell her absently, staring at the far wall and biting my thumbnail. I don't have to _look_ at her to know she looks amazing, because let's face it: Summer always looks amazing. Prom queen Summer looks amazing, hippie Summer looks amazing, and bridal Summer definitely looks amazing.

"What's wrong with you?" she snaps, but I don't take it personally. I know she's still pissed at Seth. I think the only reason she doesn't really call off the wedding is because she wants to make sure she can spend the rest of her life making him miserable. I wonder if she realizes he _enjoys_ when she tries to make him miserable.

"Nothing," I wave her off with a sigh, and she's too preoccupied with her wedding gown preparations to really notice that my 'nothing' is 'something'.

And that 'something' happens to be whatever's inside the top drawer of Ryan's dresser.

* * *

"So you're moving in with Taylor?" Seth barely turns his head towards me, instead focusing on the TV screen in front of him.

"Yeah," I mutter back, hitting a couple buttons, which turns out to be pointless, because Seth KOs me, throwing up his hands triumphantly. "Shit."

"Oh! Oh! What now, Kid Chino?" Seth gloats, and I narrow my eyes at him, making him shut the hell up. I'm about to threaten him when the front door opens, and Taylor walks in.

"Seth," she throws her purse on the table, "get out."

"What?" he looks at me, confused, and I shrug.

"You, out," she jerks her head towards the door, taking off her jacket and settling it on the back of the chair.

He gives a little wary laugh, "are you… are you serious? You're kicking me out of my own apartment?"

"Yes." She stands there, hands on her hips, eyebrows raised expectantly. Seth turns to me, mouth gaping for a few seconds, and I have no explanation. Then he stands up, grabs his keys and leaves.

"Taylor…" I begin as she locks the door behind him, but I stop when she turns back around, the look in her eyes intense and determined. I want to say something else, but she walks over to me, straddling my hips, grabbing the back of my head and kissing me roughly. And suddenly I'm not so interested in why she kicked Seth out, cause I think I have my answer. She pulls away, giving me a sexy little smile.

"Hey." Then she slides off my lap and onto the floor, and holy fuck, she's unbuttoning my pants and I'm already getting hard because I know what's coming. I lean back against the cushions of the couch as she pulls me out of my boxers and hums in appreciation. I love when she gets like this – seriously; I fucking _love_ when she gets so horny she doesn't let anything – like my roommate or, once or twice, even six thousand miles – get in her way. Those times she flew all the way from France just to fuck me? Those must have been some of the most intense experiences of my life. Even though we'd been broken up – and had agreed to see other people – she'd flown back to California to hunt me down for 'one last go'. Except it hadn't been _one last go_, because it had happened at least two or three times a year for those four years. I'd even begun expecting it – getting frustrated and on edge when she failed to show up four months after her last visit.

I'm incredibly stupid. Why the hell am I thinking about this shit when Taylor's on her fucking _knees_ in front of me? The only thing I can think is that she makes me so lightheaded and dizzy that my brain just goes off in random tangents.

And I'm still doing it.

But I pay the fuck attention when she takes me into her mouth, gripping the base of my cock in one hand and sucking the tip while flicking her tongue over the head. It feels fucking amazing, especially when she begins pumping me with her hand, drawing patterns on the underside of my dick with her tongue.

"Fuck," I grunt, gripping the back of her head in my right hand, the other clenched at my side. She giggles around me, making me shiver as she sends vibrations through me. I tug gently on her hair, and she slows her movements, flicking her eyes up to me in silent understanding. I start pumping my hips up into her mouth, and she holds her head still, but her tongue still moves against me. "_Fuck,_ Taylor. Jesus fucking _Christ._" She hums happily, eyes shining at me in pure enjoyment of doing this. I love that she loves getting me off... for obvious reasons.

I feel the familiar start of my orgasm, and she knows me well enough to sense it, tightening her hand around me and hollowing out her cheeks as she suctions me like a fucking vacuum. I come hard, and she dutifully swallows every last fucking drop like a fucking pro. And she is – a pro, I mean. She's the best head I've ever gotten, and I'm pretty sure it's because she's not ashamed of it. She doesn't do it because she feels obligated or pressured. She does it because it gets me off, and _she_ gets off on getting me off.

I distantly hear her giggle as she stands up, wiping at her lips. I smile back at her lazily, completely slumped into the couch and totally sated. I don't even bother tucking myself back in, because I'm feeling very relaxed and I don't feel like moving.

"I'm gonna go brush my teeth," she murmurs, leaning down to kiss me before heading off towards the bathroom.

* * *

I stop off in the bathroom to quickly rinse my mouth out, then tiptoe into his room, making sure he's still sitting on the couch. I shouldn't worry, because he gets really lazy after I blow him – which is pretty much why I did it. Not that I don't _like_ doing it, but it's definitely not the reason for my visit today.

_That_ is.

I make my way to his dresser, and pain flares in my foot as I run into a chair on my way. I hiss in pain, trying to be quiet, glaring at the _stupid_ chair because it hurt my toe and it made a noise when I kicked it. I pause – listening – but there's nothing, so he must not have heard. Either that or he's in such a sex haze he doesn't care. Which is preferable, actually. I open the top drawer of his dresser to find…

Wife beaters.

Like, a million of them.

Why does he need so many freaking wife beaters? I mean, yeah, he wears them all the time, and he looks good in them, but an entire drawer full? Jesus.

So why was he looking so broody at this drawer? It couldn't be the wife beaters. So I start shoving them aside, trying to find what _has_ to be hidden beneath, because there has to be _something_ that keeps making him act all weird, right?… and there it is.

My heart actually stops and I feel my lungs freeze up as my hand touches the little velvet black box. I'm shaking – literally _shaking_ – as I pick it up. It couldn't be…

I open it.

Holy-

* * *

"Taylor?" I mumble out, turning my head lazily to the side to look down the hall but she doesn't answer. Probably because my voice isn't loud enough. Then I hear a slight thump coming from my room, and I call her name a little louder. I groan in annoyance when she doesn't answer, tugging my pants back up and getting off the couch. I head down the hallway, glancing into the bathroom where she's apparently _not_ brushing her teeth before heading to my room. She's in there, standing at my dresser with-

_Shit._

"Taylor." _Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. Jesus fucking shit. _"What the fuck are you doing?" She whips around, eyes wide and holding that motherfucking goddamn box in her hand. "Fuck, Taylor," I growl, stalking forward and grabbing it out of her hand. I snap the stupid box shut and resist the urge to hurl it across the room.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, backing away and closing the drawer like that'll take everything back. An awful silence takes over, and she's still staring at the box in my hand. I want to throw it out the window, but that won't make a difference. Because she's seen it.

Why the _fuck_ did I buy an engagement ring?

"Ryan."

I feel weariness take over my body, because there's no way out of this. There's no excuse I can make up. There's no way I can convince her she didn't see it. "Look, Taylor…" I sit on the bed, and she comes to sit next to me, stumbling a bit on the way. I want to try and explain why I bought that; what I'd been feeling when I bought it.

I'd been riding a high that night: high off gambling, high off winning, high off the relief of getting away from it. But how can I tell her that without hurting her? I don't want to hurt her. I love her – more than I ever thought possible, back when we first got together. I don't want to hurt her, because I love her and I want to be with her. I can't imagine my life without her; without her smile, her infectious laughter, her absolute insanity, her ability to make me open up, to make me talk, to make me _feel_. She's the best thing to ever happen to me – besides the Cohens, of course – and I'd be a fucking idiot to let her go.

"Marry me."

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I watch her head snap up, eyes getting even wider – if that's even possible. Shit, that wasn't what I meant to say. I meant to say something like '_I'm sorry you had to see that, but I never meant to give it to you'_.

"What?" she breathes, looking like she doesn't believe me. Which is good. I can just tell her I was joking. A bad joke, yes, but a joke nonetheless. Ok, damage control.

"I said marry me."

Shit.

What the hell is wrong with me? Didn't I say 'damage control'?

"Oh my God," she murmurs, eyes drifting down to the box. Ok. This time, seriously, _damage control_.

"Taylor, I love you." Ok, good start. _I love you, but it was a mistake, etcetera_. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Wait, no, bad. But there's still time to get out of this: _I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I didn't mean to propose_. Say it! "Marry me."

Motherfu-

"Yes."

_What_? _Yes_?

"Really?"

She giggles at me, hearing the shock in my voice. "Really," she leans into me, kissing me softly, and why was this a bad idea? I can't remember my reasons. Did I even _have_ reasons? Not really.

Because it's _her_ ring.

The minute I saw it in the store, I could see it on her hand. I could see _putting it_ on her hand. I break off the kiss. "The ring," I mutter, fumbling to open that goddamn box, and I pull the ring out and grab her hand. I flick my eyes up to her, and she looks excited and disbelieving at the same time. I fumble slightly, before lining up her finger, and-

"Wait." I pause, and she pulls her hand back. "We can't."

"Why?" My throat constricts, and it hits me how much I want to marry her.

"Because," she sighs, looking disappointed, "Seth and Summer are getting married in two days. If we get engaged now, I feel like I'll be… I don't know, stealing her thunder or something. I can't do that to her, especially since she's been really on edge lately."

I pause, plans running through my head. "Well, can't we just not tell anyone until after?"

"Ryan," she sighs, giving me a look. "This is _me_. Do you really think I could keep a secret like that? Even for two days?"

I want to laugh, because it's true. She kinda sucks at keeping things a secret – like that time she told Julie and Kaitlin about my love of 80's rock? Well, my love of 80's rock while fucking her. My brain tries to go off into a fantasy of Taylor on the hood of a car, but I force myself to think of the matter at hand – namely, convincing the girl to marry me.

Ok, that sounds a lot worse than it is, because I don't think I'll have trouble _convincing_ her to marry me – not from the scarily excited look in her eyes. But I need to convince Taylor to get engaged to me _now_, because there's just this thing inside me that doesn't want to let this go.

"I guess we could put it off until after," I hear my stupid mouth say, and why the hell can't I say what I'm thinking today? First I try _not_ to propose, and now that I'm actually _trying_ to, I back out? What the hell is wrong with me? But apparently my subconscious is about twenty steps ahead of me, because my mouth is still going. "I mean, you could pretend like you never saw the ring, and I can plan out something a little more romantic than you sneaking into my room and snooping through my drawers and accidentally finding it."

I watch the blood rush to her face, and she looks down at the floor, because, despite the practice, she really is a terrible stalker. I don't know why the airlines ever had her on their terrorist alert watch, because even if she _wanted_ to hijack an airplane, she'd probably end up tripping in the aisle and ruining the plan.

Ok, back to the whole marriage/new proposal thing. Maybe waiting is a good idea, because she deserves something romantic. I'm not _good_ at romantic, but she deserves it. Plus, I have to top that French bastard, who asked her on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Shit, how am I supposed to top that?

"Yes." She says the word slowly, eyes focused on something to the right of me, looking determined, like she's figuring something out in her head.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'll marry you." I resist the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her, because, really, she's the most aggravating girl I've ever met.

"Didn't you _just_ say you wanted to wait?" I sigh, and she smiles.

"Yeah, but then you started talking about a new proposal," she looks up at me, that little smile playing over her lips, and she's absolutely beautiful. "But I don't want a new proposal. I want this one."

"But this one's a mess," I protest.

"Exactly." I sigh; she's absolutely insane. I don't get her _at all_. "Ryan, this is _us_. _We're_ a mess. I'm always fumbling around, and you're always quiet and brooding and only saying things when you mean them." She reaches out and takes my hand, bringing it up to rest above her heart, "if we postponed this, I know you'll feel like you have to have some elaborate plan, something really romantic, and I don't want that. I want _your_ proposal, not what you think one _should_ be."

* * *

He stares at me like I've grown a second head, and I can't help but just smile at him. He's so adorable when he's confused. "So," he starts off warily, "you _don't_ want a big romantic proposal?" He looks like he expects me to suddenly change my mind, and – ok – I've been known to be a little impulsive and… well, 'insane' is the term most used, but I prefer 'mentally hyperactive'.

Anyway, I shake my head at him, and I can tell he's still unsure. I hear him mumble something about _stupid French ex-husbands_ and it hits me – he wants to top Henri-Michel. After nine or so years with the Cohens, Ryan's finally got his jealousy thing under control. Kind of. He doesn't punch people anymore - except that one guy who grabbed my ass in a bar after I first got back from France – and he doesn't do that thing where he thinks that any guy I talk to is a threat. But he's still Ryan, and my ex-husband still bugs him. Truthfully, the French bastard bugs _me_, but I think Ryan feels threatened. Because I'd always wanted to go to France and be surrounded by that culture, and Ryan's pretty much the antithesis of that. Sometimes I think he half expects me to up and leave him and run off to Paris again.

Doesn't he get it? Yes, I liked Paris. In fact, I _loved_ Paris. Paris is everything I always wanted; I've had so many offers to go back, he knows that. But doesn't he get that my future is here? With him? Yes, I loved Paris, but I love him more. And it's not just him, it's Summer, and Seth, and the Cohens, and Kaitlin and Julie, and even Frank, and – why not – Bullit. And little Sophie – adorable little Sophie, who tells everyone that Ryan's her big brother and that _Seth's_ the adopted one, because he doesn't have pretty blonde hair. And Matthew, mere months younger than his sister-in-law-by-adoption or however he's related to Sophie. Matthew, who looks so much like Ryan that it makes my heart stop whenever he smiles at me, who acts so _unlike_ Ryan that I remember he's Julie Cooper's son. There's so much here in Berkeley that Paris stands absolutely no chance. It's not even in the running, because there's nothing in Paris for me without him – without all of them.

I always thought I'd find a romantic Frenchman to save me from my mother; to smother me with pretty flowers and thoughtful poems about my eyes. It had been nice – yes – to hear how beautiful I was, in long, drawn out sentences using big words. But it's nothing – _nothing_ – compared to when Ryan looks me in the eyes and smiles. He doesn't have to say anything for me to know what he's thinking, and when he _does_ say something, it means more than whatever had come flowing out of the tip of Henri-Michel's pen.

Doesn't he get that what I want is _him_? I want Ryan Atwood, the brooding loner who keeps to himself and goes to whatever lengths to help his friends. I don't want him trying to be someone he's not, but I'm not sure how else to phrase it, because I've already told him this. So instead, I lean forward and kiss him, bringing my hand to the side of his face, and I feel him relax.

When we break apart he smiles at me, and – surprise of all surprises – it looks like, finally, after six years, he's starting to be able to read me too.

"How about you wear it on a chain?" he suggests. What? It takes me a few seconds to realize he means the ring. I nod, because I really can't form any words in my head right now. "But," he continues, and he gets that intense, _Ryan_ look in his eyes, "I want you to wear it properly while we're alone." He takes my hand slides it onto my finger. It's a little loose – probably because he bought it on a whim in Vegas – but I don't tell him that. I'll get it resized in secret later; I don't want him getting down on himself because he got the wrong size. It doesn't matter.

He looks up at me, and _holy shit._ I'm engaged.

_Again_.

Except this time I'm not drunk.

_

* * *

_

You know, I TRIED to throw you all off the scent of an engagement ring, but you're too smart for me… way to ruin my surprise everyone… Just kidding (kind of).

_Anyway, review! You know you want to…_

_Oh, and try to guess my favorite line! (hint: it's from Taylor's POV)._


	13. Day 13

_Ok, I'm slightly sad that this is there's only two more chapters after this one… Vegas has become pretty much my favorite story to write, so I really hope you guys are enjoying it too!_

_Also, no one really guessed my favorite line from last chapter. It wasn't an obvious one, so I'll let you slide. The line was: "adorable little Sophie, who tells everyone that Ryan's her big brother and that _Seth's_ the adopted one, because he doesn't have pretty blonde hair."_

_Ok, on to the rehearsal dinner!_

* * *

I sigh in annoyance, tapping the pen against the paper in utter frustration. It's even worse, because when I look down at my notepad, I feel like a twelve year old girl. _Taylor Atwood_ is written across the sheet in so many places, it looks like I've been doing this for hours. Which I have been, but I'm choosing to ignore that. I sigh, and write the name again.

It still feels weird.

Not _weird_ in a _oh my God, I can't marry him_ way. It's just weird, because it's too new to my ears. I know everyone thinks I'm insane, and that I've been planning on marrying him from day one – which I have been, but I'm choosing to ignore that, too – but I never thought of the name. It doesn't roll of my tongue the way it should. It's not like 'Kirsten Cohen', or, hell, even 'Julie Cooper-Nichol'. They just _go_. Even 'Summer Cohen' sounds better. But 'Taylor Atwood'? Maybe there's too many a's… TAYlor ATwood. When I stress them, it sounds even worse.

I flip the page and start writing again. _Taylor Townsend-Atwood_. A little long and wordy – but hey, that's me, right? _Taylor Atwood-Townsend._ Which would make my initials TAT, so… no. Plus, that makes it sound like _Atwood_ is my maiden name, and then people will think Ryan's my brother or something.

The thing is, I love the name Atwood. It's so… Ryan. Which, yes, sounds weird - of _course_ it's so Ryan, because it's his last name - but it's more than that. Atwood sounds so sturdy and dependable. Not at all me.

"Hey."

I almost fall out of my chair in the scramble to hide the papers when Summer walks in, and she shoots me a look.

"Hey," I breathe with a smile, ripping the pages off the pad of paper and stuffing them into my purse. "Just last minute speech changes," I laugh, and she shrugs.

"Just don't say anything stupid, got it Townsend?" Maybe I should have her start calling me Atwood.

Oh God, I didn't think it would be this hard to not tell her. I want to tell her. What harm could it do? I want to tell her… No. No thunder stealing.

"Oh, and could you call Cohen and tell him to wear the green shirt to the wedding rehearsal tonight?" I quirk an eyebrow at her. "I'm not talking to him," she explains angrily, and I sigh.

* * *

"Taylor called," I walk into Seth's room, where he's standing in front of his closet, looking confused. "Summer wants you to wear the green one."

"Thank Moses," he breathes, and I laugh. He's not good at making decisions for himself, which is actually why he and Summer make such a great pair. She's quite… decisive.

Still, even with this decision made, he looks a little pale, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing his hands together nervously. I don't have to ask to know what's wrong. Ever since we got back from Vegas, Summer's been getting angrier as each day goes by. I mean, she called the wedding off a couple days ago after Bullit got back, and she's barely said a word to him since. I know he's worried she won't make it till tomorrow.

Truthfully, _I'm_ a little worried she won't make it to tomorrow.

* * *

"Is this ok?" I ask, twirling for Summer for what feels like the millionth time. She gives me a once over and nods. _Finally_. I've had to change outfits twelve times. The first outfit was _too slutty_, the second _too formal_, the third _not formal enough_. The list went on, and it seems this one – a white skirt and green top – is just formal and unslutty enough to work.

"Let's get this over with." She grabs her purse and storms out the door, and I can't help but want to hit her. She's being such a… I don't know, but she's not being herself and I need to find out what's going on.

It'll just have to be later, though, because rehearsals start now.

* * *

This is ungodly boring.

Really, my part in this is: walk down the aisle, stand there, hand Seth the ring, stand some more, stand some more... wait, time to go? nope, more standing. Seriously, this could not be any more boring. And not to mention awkward. Because Summer's doing everything with a kind of intense focus, and Seth keeps twitching like he's about to get hit, and Taylor's on edge because _they're_ on edge, and even the rabbi looks uncomfortable. It probably doesn't help that we're outside, and the sun's beating down on us like we're in the middle of hell, which, I'm starting to think we actually are.

I glance over at Taylor, who's standing there like she doesn't feel the heat or how _boring_ this is. I think it's all those years of dealing with her mother – she's learned quite the polite mask. It's a little scary, actually, the way her face just sets into this slate.

I hate it.

She gets like this every time her mother comes to visit – which she does every once and a while, to _'check in_'. Which is bullshit. The woman just comes over for her monthly fix of her daughter's pain and humiliation. The worst part was that after the earthquake, Taylor had hoped – with this frightening intensity – that the woman had changed. But after the bandages had come off, she was back to her normal, venomous self.

She looks at me and I see her face break from its mask, into a slight smile – and if I didn't know her so well, I wouldn't even know she was smiling. I give her a look – a _dear Lord, I hope this is over soon _look – and she presses her lips together to suppress a grin. I love making her smile. She raises her hand and runs a finger along the chain around her neck, which extends under the neckline of her shirt. My heart stops for a second when I remember what's on the end of that chain. It's my ring – _her_ ring – that extends down, hiding beneath her shirt because it's too soon to tell anyone.

"And then you kiss, and everyone claps," the rabbi says, and I'm snapped back into reality, because it's time to head down the aisle again. Summer storms down, and Seth tries to keep up. I hear Taylor murmur an apology to the rabbi before stepping towards me. I smile and extend my arm to her. Her face lights up, and she links her arm in mine, and we follow the happy couple to the Cohen's kitchen.

"We'll be doing this at our own soon," I whisper into her ear, and I feel her grip my arm tighter.

* * *

I tap my fingers on the tabletop, the sound reverberating loudly in my ears. I don't think anyone else can hear it, but it's overwhelming to me. I glance around the table at the rest of the family – the Cohens, Seth, Summer, Kaitlin, Julie, Frank, Sophie and Matthew. Bullit and his new _wife_ – I still can't get over that – are whispering things into each other's ears, which, from the looks of it, can't be in the PG rating. Kaitlin keeps glancing over at them and rolling her eyes.

But it's not like I blame them. Right now, it's taking every ounce of will power not to jump across the table – scatter all these pretty little dishes – and rip his clothes off. Ryan, I mean, not Bullit. Ew. But seriously, though, I haven't gotten to fuck him yet since we got engaged. Right after, we'd been about to, but Kirsten had called. I swear, it's like that woman has radar that tells her when we're about to get naked. She'd called and invited us to dinner, and then after, Summer'd been angry, so I went home with her, and today had been all about the rehearsal.

I can't believe I can't find time to have sex with my fiancée.

The worst part is, I won't get a chance to today at all, because after the rehearsal dinner, I have to go home with Summer. Which sucks. I look over at him, where he's laughing and trying to get Sophie to eat her broccoli.

* * *

"Taylor?"

I look up when Kirsten says her name, and I see her frozen, fork half raised to her mouth. The whole table's silent now, and everyone's watching her. Shit, what's wrong? She's just staring at… Sophie? We all jump a little when her fork hits the plate, the sound harsh and clanking, and followed by the scraping of chair legs against wood as she stands up.

"Excuse me," she whispers, hand going to her stomach, and she runs out of the dining room.

"She must be sick." I feel a twisting in my gut, and I hope to God that's all it is. Because right now, all I can think of is the way she was looking at Sophie, and the hand pressed to her stomach.

Oh God, she's fucking pregnant.

* * *

"Taylor," his voice is shaky, and he comes into the room with a purpose. "What's wrong?"

I stop my pacing, because, let's face it, I'm pacing like a crazy person. Because I am crazy. But what's wrong? What's wrong is that I have all these freaky emotions inside of me that won't shut up, so I do stupid things like freeze up in the middle of dinner and creep out the whole family. It's just… I had to freeze up. Because if I hadn't I would've ended up saying something _bad_.

"Taylor," he grabs my shoulders, and I see the panic on his face. Fantastic, now I've freaked _him_ out too. "Are you pregnant?"

"What?" that surprises me. "No." He lets out a shaky sigh, closing his eyes for a second, and I can almost _see_ the relief wash over him. Well, good to know what page _he's_ on.

"What's wrong then?"

How do I explain this to him? I mean, he knows I'm crazy, it's not like its new information. But I'd rather not have him know _how_ crazy. Except I feel it all coming up, like word vomit…

"I was sitting there, eating, and I saw you and Sophie, and she's so cute, and she looks like you, and I couldn't help thinking about how I want to tell everyone we're engaged, but we can't, because of Summer's thunder, and-"

"Taylor." I stop, mid-ramble. "Point, please?"

"Do you want kids, Ryan?"

"Um." I literally see his entire body go stiff, and way to go me. Way to completely freak out your boyfriend.

Fiancée, _whatever_.

Probably soon to be ex-fiancée. _Ok_, _damage control_.

"Because I do." Ok, not so much with the damage control, more with the crazy. Oh well, I'm already screwed, might as well go all in. "I want it all, Ryan. I know we just got engaged and we haven't even _talked_ about this stuff yet, but I want everything with you. I want the big wedding, and children, and a little house with a white picket fence, and a mini-van, and I know I'm completely psycho, and you're probably not even thinking this stuff right now, but I can't help it. That's why I had to leave, Ryan, because I knew if I sat there any longer, with Sophie looking at you like she does, I'd say something, and then everyone would know, and then Summer'd get even angrier, and-"

I let out an embarrassing squeak as he grabs me – how does he move so fast? – and pulls me into him. Then his lips are on mine, and I feel his hands _everywhere_, and I hear him grunt softly into my mouth. Then he pulls away suddenly, leaving me breathless, and he pants, eyes searching mine. "Yeah. I mean, I want that stuff too. All of it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathes, and a smile curves his beautiful mouth up. "Maybe not _right_ now, and maybe not all at once, but someday soon."

"Even children?" I ask, because I _did_ notice the absolute relief when I told him I wasn't pregnant.

"Yeah," his hands go to my waist, and he pulls me tight to him.

"How about we have our first one nine months after the wedding?" I tease, and I wait for the panic. Instead, he pauses for a moment, and something in him changes.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever you want." Really?

"Really?" He laughs, leaning down to kiss me lightly.

"Yeah, really. In fact, if you want, we could get a jumpstart on trying for one," he mumbles against my lips. "Or, we could just get some practice in."

Sometimes I hate Summer. I mean, here I am, with my gorgeous fiancée telling me he wants _everything_ with me, and offering himself up to me, and all I can think about is that we have to get back soon, or people will start to worry. Stupid family obligations.

Family. The word makes me pull away from him, and I'm not even bothered by his annoyed sigh. They'll be my actual family when I marry him. I'll have a real father – not one who ran away from me nearly twenty years ago. I'll have a real mother – not the gigantic bitch who comes by once a month to make snarky comments about how I don't even _live_ with my 'boyfriend'. And I'll have all these new people, even if they're not really _new_, but it'll be real. It won't just be in my head anymore. I'll have family obligations.

"We should get back to dinner, or they'll start worrying," I whisper, trying to suppress my smile because I don't think Ryan will understand. Although, maybe he will. I keep forgetting he knows what it's like to suddenly have people who care.

* * *

Seth is tense next to me, and next to him, Summer is tense and angry. Next to _her_ is Taylor, looking tense and worried, and I can't help but think this is the most awkward rehearsal dinner ever. Taylor's tense because Summer is, Seth is tense because he's afraid Summer will call off the wedding, Summer is tense for God only knows what reason, but _I'm_ tense, because I want to fuck my fiancée, and I can't because there's too many damn people around.

Damn people.

Luckily Sandy and Kirsten are here, keeping things light, making jokes, relieving the heaviness in the air. Everyone can feel it, it's not just the four of us. Summer's outburst a couple days ago alerted everyone to the fact that something's not quite right with her.

After dinner's over, we all break into groups. Seth and Summer stand together, talking, but not to each other. I sigh as I watch Taylor and Kirsten try to make conversation with them. I don't want to be part of this. It's too much work, and I'm _very_ drained.

"I bet she's preggers."

"Jesus," I breathe. Kaitlin's damn quite when she wants to be, and she rolls her eyes at my surprise.

"I'm just saying," she waves in Summer's direction. "Maybe she's got a little Seth clone in there."

Actually, it would make sense. I remember how she was the _last_ time we tried Vegas – how on edge she'd been. But it might be _good_ if she is, because she won't _leave_ Seth if she's just pregnant. I turn to tell Kaitlin this, and see the guy next to her. I think he just arrived, because he wasn't here at dinner. The guy sees me notice him, and extends his hand.

"Justin."

"Ryan," I shake the guys hand, and it's a good, strong handshake. I decide I like the guy. I can usually tell from a handshake whether I'll like a person or not. And I like this guy, from his strong grip to the way his eyes flicked over to Kaitlin in some sort of silent protectiveness, but also to seek her approval.

"You're Seth's best friend?" he questions, like he's putting pieces of information together in his head, and I wonder what Kaitlin's told this boy about us. But I nod, and he looks over at the oh-so-happy couple. "And you're dating Taylor, right?" I nod again, and the boy smiles. "Good, looks like I'm finally getting this down. You guys have a _really_ complicated family tree." I laugh, and the boy smiles, and Kaitlin looks upset at not being the center of attention.

"So how'd you two meet?" I ask, trying to bring Kaitlin in, but it's Justin that answers. He smiles down at his date, and I definitely approve of him, because he has that _look_ that I've seen on Seth, Sandy, Frank and – yes – even my own face. It's the look of a guy that's completely hooked, and totally alright with it.

"We have calculus together. I offered to tutor her."

"To get into my pants," she mutters darkly, and Justin and I laugh, because it's so typically _Kaitlin_.

"I'm going to go introduce myself to that guy who keeps glaring at me," Justin tells Kaitlin, and we all look to where Bullit is looking at the new boy. I watch Kaitlin's face fill with disbelief as her date walks off to face what will be his harshest critic. Julie and Frank are both easygoing enough, but Bullit…

"You picked a good one," I murmur as we watch Justin approach the Texan, holding out his hand, which Bullit takes aggressively. The boy doesn't flinch, which makes Bullit a little unsure of himself. I grin.

"He's ok," she shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

"You really like him." I watch her sigh, and she folds her arms across her stomach.

"Don't tell anyone," she shifts uncomfortably, and I put my arm around her shoulders and hug her slightly. She may try to act tough, but I definitely don't buy it. "Seriously," she warns, and I can tell she's afraid I'll rat her out.

"I promise," I look down at the girl, and she looks up at me, and her face softens.

"Thanks." I shrug, and she looks at the floor. "For everything, you know? For just… always being there. Thanks."

"Always."

She sighs and rests her head against my shoulder.

* * *

God, this is awful.

I take another swig of my champagne and turn away from the soul-sucking pair. Seriously, they're such downers, and at their _own rehearsal dinner_. Could they be more depressing? I don't know, maybe if they started slaughtering animals it could be worse, but not by much. So I turn away from them and drain my glass, and I look over to the side of the room where Ryan's standing with Kaitlin – the girl's dark head resting against his shoulder, and he's saying something, and she looks almost vulnerable. It makes my heart wrench painfully, because he's just so… _good_.

He'll make a wonderful father.

Kaitlin says something, and the comment makes Ryan's gaze go to me, and I smile at him. He smiles back, then nods his head to the other side of the room, and I look. There's Kaitlin's date – Justin – talking with Bullit, and you gotta give the boy points for courage. I mean, it takes some serious balls to face The Bullit head on with no backup – especially when you're doing the nasty with the guy's 'daughter'. I'd rather face Julie Cooper any day. And not only that, but Justin seems to actually be winning the guy over.

Good.

* * *

I walk into the kitchen, and Kirsten's in there, clearing plates and moving tirelessly around. It never ceases to amaze me how she keeps going, even when she's exhausted.

"Hey honey," she smiles – that _Kirsten_ smile that always makes me a little unsure of myself. It's weird, because even ten years later, it takes my breath away, because she's _mine_. She's my mother. Yes, she's Seth's, too, but that doesn't matter. And I know that Sandy's my dad, but it's different. Kirsten… there's just something about her, and her approval isn't easy to win, but when you do…

"Hey," I take a stack of plates from her hand and start to load them in the washer. She laughs lightly at me, but doesn't try to argue. She's learned by now that trying to gets her nowhere. I won't stand idly by while she works. So she leans against the counter as I load, and we fall into an easy silence. It strikes me that I haven't really talked to Kirsten in quite a while. This past week has been filled with Seth and Taylor, and the week before that it was just the boys.

"So how are _you_?" she asks, and leave it to Kirsten to remember me in all the rush of Seth's wedding.

"I'm good." I can't really think of anything else to say, so instead I duck my head down and continue my job.

"Taylor looks lovely," she remarks, staring out into the dining room where Taylor's talking to Frank and Julie. I turn my head just in time to catch her bursting into laughter, and I stand up straight. I don't know what's wrong with me, but it seems like everything's shut down except for my sight, because I'm watching Taylor laugh, but I can't hear her or anything else. I look over at Kirsten.

"We're engaged."

She looks at me, and I can honestly say I wasn't expecting her reaction. I expected surprise, and maybe a little bit of panic. Instead she smiles, face softening, and I duck my head again, feeling the heat in my face, because she looks so _proud_.

"Don't tell anyone."

Well, shit. Taylor's going to _kill_ me.

_

* * *

_

It just struck me that I had almost no Ryan/Kirsten interaction in this story, which just had to be fixed, cause that dynamic is one of my favorites. Up next is the wedding, which… I'm having a bit of trouble writing, cause I need to fit an entire wedding and reception into one chapter. Wish me luck!

_Oh, and review!_


	14. Day 14

_So, I'm still celebrating finals being over (and my first summer off in two years). Yesterday I updated the Chino-verse, and now it's Vegas._

_Ok, so as I mentioned before, I was having a slight dilemma with this chapter, because my OCD says that I have to follow the trend and make each chapter a day, so I couldn't split up the wedding and reception, since they take place on the same day. Make sense? Good. So anyway, I hope I've covered everything adequately._

_Also, I really want to thank everyone! Whether you're a reviewer or a lurker, I love you anyway, cause Vegas now has over 150 reviews and 10,000 hits! You guys rock my friggen world._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"He'd better not do anything stupid," Summer rages, tugging at the neckline of her dress. "If he does, I might actually kill him…"

"Summer," I get up and go over to my friend – my best friend, my first friend in the world – and put my hands on her shoulders. "What is going on with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she shakes me off, moving over to the mirror and playing with her hair.

"Stop avoiding me, Summer," I huff, because I'm so _done_ with her attitude. "Seth has been nothing but perfect since he got back from Vegas, and yes, they _did_ get arrested, and he lost some money, but it's not like he doesn't have more, and the owner of that house isn't even pressing charges. And the strippers? They're _men_, Summer, you've got to get over that. He's done _everything_ for you for _ten years_, so tell me what's really going on."

"Nothing," she slams her hairbrush down on the vanity, whipping around so fast a couple of her hairpins fall out. "Nothing is wrong with Seth. He's just _perfect_, ok?"

"Then what's wrong? Why are you acting like such a bitch?" I can't believe I just said that. Yes, she's been acting like one, but _bitch_ is such a harsh word…

"Because my dad's not coming to my wedding!"

There's a horrified silence as she realizes what she said, and I have a million and one thoughts rushing through my head."But he likes Seth…" I protest, because this doesn't make sense. Even if Dr. Roberts disagreed with her choice, he'd still want to be there for his daughter…

"He got called away to some mandatory conference in Tahoe," she whispers. "He said he was sorry…"

"Summer, how long have you known?" She shrugs.

"A couple days? It was right after we came back from picking the guys up in Vegas…"

And suddenly it all makes sense. Summer and her father are incredibly close – or were, before he moved to Seattle. I know she was looking forward to seeing him, because she hasn't since Chrismukkah. She misses him, even if she won't admit it. So yes, it suddenly makes sense why she kept trying to call off the wedding; because she wants him there.

"Oh, Summer," I move forward to hug her, and she starts to sniffle, and in the back of my mind, I hope she's not going to cry cause then we'll have to fix her makeup. Speaking of… "ok, no crying," I command, backing away and looking at her resolutely. "Now, the minute you get a chance to talk to him, you're going to explain this to Seth, because he's been kind of a wreck lately."

* * *

"She's gonna run away."

"She's not gonna run away," I sigh, even if I'm not so sure I'm right. I don't know _what_ the hell's going on with Summer, but I wouldn't put it past her to do something drastic right now.

"Don't say that," he mutters, pacing. "I've seen _Runaway Bride_ more times than I'd like to admit, so don't tell me won't run. She hates me. Oh Moses, she _hates me_. It's taken her ten years, but she's finally realized she could do better. Ryan, I'm gonna lose her. I can't lose her. What am I supposed to do without her? She's…"

"Seth, shut the fuck up." He stops his pacing, mouth snapping shut and he looks absolutely stricken. I sigh, because now I'll have to make this better. "Stop worrying. Because she's not going to run, and even if she does, you can't do anything about it now. So shut up, put your tie on, get your ass out there and wait for your bride."

He nods resolutely, grabbing his tie and heading towards the door. Then he stops and turns back to me. "But what if…"

"Go."

* * *

"Summer."

She turns in her chair to look at me – makeup back in place, hair perfectly arranged. It's almost time to go, but I have one last thing to do.

"I know you pride yourself on not being traditional, but I am. So I got you something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue." She smiles at me, and I pull out the little purse I have holding it all. "First is your garter, because every bride needs one. It's blue, and it's new." She laughs a little, holding out her hand for the thing. She slips it over her foot and pulls it up to her thigh, and I just _know_ Seth'll freak when he sees it.

"Quite efficient," she nods and I giggle. Then I settle down, because the _old_ and the _borrowed_ are a little more serious. I reach into the purse and take out a little box. When I open it, her eyes go wide and she gasps.

"When you told me you were engaged, I went to Seattle…" she reaches her hand out towards the box, eyes totally fixated on the earrings inside. "Your dad told me they belonged to your mom… He wants you to have them, and I thought you could wear them as your _something old_."

"Taylor," she whispers, and I hear the tears in her voice. Oh God, I hope she doesn't cry, cause then _I'll_ cry, and we'll both keep crying, and I'm not sure we have enough time before the wedding to fix everything. So I decide to continue on, because the _something borrowed_ is even worse.

"And yesterday I talked to Julie." She looks up at me, taking her eyes off her mother's earrings for the first time. I take a deep breath and reach into the purse, drawing out the necklace inside. "You gave this to her, at her non-wedding to Bullit." I hear a low sob break from her, and I swallow thickly. "I know you'd want her to be with you if she were still alive…" She opens the locket, and really breaks down. "Summer, don't cry," I protest, but it's too late, because I feel the familiar sting of tears welling up.

"Thank you," she grabs me up in a hug that takes my breath away, and we stand there, hugging and crying until we hear the door open.

"Hey," Kaitlin's voice is low, and I hold out my hand to her. She pretends to look annoyed, but moves forward and Summer and I pull her into the hug. She knows all about the locket – I'd discussed it with her two days ago when I'd first thought of the idea. I didn't want to upset Kaitlin, because she may have been Summer's best friend, but she was Kaitlin's _sister_, and I wanted her approval. Kaitlin pulls away first. "Everyone's waiting, so you need to get fixed up, and get out there _now_."

* * *

I think I may have actually stopped breathing when Taylor comes out, looking just absolutely stunning with her hair half back, half falling over her otherwise bare shoulders, and I can still see that thin metal chain around her neck that holds my ring under her dress. She makes it up the aisle and gives me a smile. Then everyone stands up, and Summer starts down. She's gorgeous with her dark hair tumbling all around her, and she moves slowly in her huge dress. Seth stops looking nervous and he can't take his eyes off her, but from the way he's standing I can tell he's still tense. Summer smiles slightly, then sticks her tongue out at him, and I can actually _see_ him relax. His shoulders drop slightly –like the weight of the world is finally off them - and he grins back at his bride as she reaches him, rolling his eyes like he'd never been worried at all.

The actual service goes by in a blur, and I stumble over my part to hand Seth the ring – Taylor handled it with _much_ better grace. Then it's over, and the rabbi pronounces them married, and everyone starts clapping. I look at my brother – and my sister-in-law – and I smile. Then my eyes go to Taylor, and she's giving me this _look_, and it's like I can read her mind.

_We're next._

The thought makes my heart stop, and I swallow nervously, flicking my eyes back to the newlyweds, because I don't think I can look at _her_ any longer without giving everything away. The only problem with that plan is that I have to walk her down the aisle after Seth and Summer, and I feel her squeeze my arm. But I keep my eyes straight ahead, and I hear her giggle. She knows.

* * *

He's so adorable.

He keeps avoiding looking at me, keeping his eyes firmly on Seth's back as we follow the happy couple down the aisle. Behind me I hear Kaitlin mutter something to Seth's other groomsman – Anna Stern. The girl actually looks really cute in her tux, and she doesn't seem to mind the fact that she's acting a boy's part. She just got in this morning from Rhode Island, where she still lives after graduating from Brown.

We get inside the house, and Ryan takes me aside for a second – we only have a few minutes before we need to do the bouquet thing and head to the limo to get to the hotel where the reception will be. Apparently the Cohen's house was big enough to seat all these people for a wedding, but not big enough to have caterers, a DJ, tables, and a dance floor. He pulls me into the kitchen, and I open my mouth to tell him I need to go back outside and get ready for when Summer throws the bouquet.

Instead of letting me talk, he slides one hand around my waist, the other going to the back of my head, and he presses his lips to mine. I feel my muscles go all weak, and I'm supposed to be doing something… right?

He pulls away, and my heart skips quite a few beats at how dark his eyes are. The hand tangled in my hair slides down my back and joins the other on my waist. "You're coming home with me tonight," he murmurs, letting his hands run up and down my sides. "Summer will be with Seth, so you can't use that excuse."

"But Ryan," I breathe, "I should stay here tonight and help the Cohens clean up. I mean, it's my duty as Maid of Honor…"

"Sandy and Kirsten will be fine on their own. You're coming home with me, and there's no way you're getting out of it."

"Well, if I have no choice…"

"Nope."

"Townsend! Atwood! Where are you?" Ryan groans, stepping away from me with a sigh as Summer comes into the room. "Ok, ew. I think you two need chaperones."

"Time for the bouquet?" I make my voice cheerful, ignoring her comment about the fact that Ryan and I can't keep our hands off each other. She rolls her eyes and nods, fisting the skirt of her dress in both hands and lifting it up so she can walk easier before heading outside. "Ok, let's go," I sigh, ignoring Ryan's broody face. He grumbles something – I think I vaguely hear the words _sex with my fiancée_ in there – but I ignore that too.

* * *

"I'm hot," Seth mutters, pulling at his tie like a little kid. Of course it's hot, we all feel it, but he's the only one whining like a little bitch about it. I fold my arms and look over at the collection of women standing behind Summer.

Taylor and Kaitlin are in front, and they actually look like they're arguing. Kaitlin takes out her phone, waving it menacingly, and Taylor looks over at me quickly before turning back to Kaitlin and nodding. Summer turns her back on the girls and flings flowers over her head. And I'm actually a little surprised, because Taylor makes no move to get it – she's quite competitive, and I can't imagine her just standing there while Kaitlin grabs the bouquet out of the air. In fact, I think Taylor may have actually held some other girl back so Kaitlin could catch it…

"Thank Moses," Seth grumbles, moving forward and practically hauling Summer off towards the limo.

"What was that about?" I walk over a little more sedately and ask my girlfriend. Fiancée. She shrugs and Kaitlin snickers.

"Maybe I just felt like I didn't _need_ to catch the bouquet."

That shuts me up, because way to be really obvious. Especially around Kaitlin, who's actually incredibly smart, and she doesn't miss Taylor's comment and the way I tense up. She quirks an eyebrow, and I clear my throat. "The limo's waiting."

* * *

My feet are absolutely killing me.

I really should've brought an extra pair of shoes – flats, preferably – because these heels are murdering my feet. They _are_ pretty, though…

But they're also preventing me from dancing with my fiancée, who's currently attempting to spin Kaitlin around. Which is actually pretty damn amusing, because he's not exactly the best dancer ever, and she's laughing, ducking clumsily under his arm.

He notices me watching and flashes me a grin, and I love him so much. It makes my heart squeeze painfully, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with all this… _emotion_ that's making it hard for me to breathe.

"Kirsten." Thank _God_, something to distract me from the fact that Ryan is gorgeous and amazing and smart and funny and loyal and _mine_. "How does it feel to have a daughter?" Then I shake my head, because how stupid am I? "You know what I mean."

Kirsten laughs, glancing over to where Sophie and Matthew are arguing over who was better in the wedding. "It actually doesn't feel any different," she shrugs. "Summer's been part of this family for nearly a decade. The only difference is the ring on her finger and the name change." I nod, because that makes sense. Even for me, this whole wedding seems almost… pointless, because Seth and Summer have – at least in my mind – always been married. "How are you?"

I frown at her, because she said that like I _shouldn't_ be ok. "Well, my feet kind of hurt, but I'm fine, otherwise…"

"Right," Kirsten smiles down at her glass of sparkling cider. "Ryan told me it was supposed to be a secret."

What?

_What??_

"What?"

She looks back up at me with a secretive smile. "He also told me I wasn't supposed to tell you I know."

"Know what…" I ask hesitantly, just in case she just _suspects_ something, and is trying to trick me into talking.

"Know that soon _you'll_ be the one not making me feel any different, because you've always been part of the family."

Now, I know that sentence _should_ make me want to cry, because it's what I always wanted. A family. But instead, all I can feel is annoyance. "We agreed not to tell anyone, the bastard." I glare at him as best I can, but he doesn't see me, too caught up in trying not to step on Summer's dress as they dance. To his left Seth and Anna are dancing, and they make a ridiculous looking pair, because they're both in tuxedos, and to his right, Sandy and Kaitlin are attempting some type of waltz. Next to me, Kirsten laughs again, shaking her head at her son, and I know she's thinking the same thing I am. Ryan never talks, but the one time he _can't_ tell anyone something, he lets it slip?

She turns to me, suddenly serious. "If you need to talk, I'm here. I know how excited Summer was when Seth proposed, and it must be killing you to be silent."

I don't answer for a while, because I'm thinking hard about the next words out of my mouth. How do I tell Kirsten what I'm feeling without it turning into an epic poem?

"I just want to tell everyone," I explain, "because I'm so… _happy_." She seems to get the entire novel's worth of information packed into my _happy_, because she smiles and nods again.

"So is he."

* * *

"Wanna dance?" I interrupt her conversation with Kirsten, and the two women look at me – Kirsten with that _pride_, and Taylor with… huh… she looks a little angry. Why?

"Sure," she agrees with a smile that's just a little _too_ polite, but I decide not to ask. If she has a problem, I have no doubt she'll let me know about it. She's never been one for keeping secrets. I walk her out to the dance floor and slide one arm around her waist, the other catching her hand, and we dance. She looks surprised that I'm not stepping on her feet, and I can't help but smile smugly. I _knew_ going with Seth to his wedding dance lessons was a good idea. She shakes her head at me with a smile, and she must've guessed, because she's very perceptive. We settle into dancing, silently, and the look of annoyance disappears from her face. Eventually she leans her head against my shoulder.

I'm not sure what's going on with me, because one half of me is completely relaxed and happy, because I have a girl I love – that loves me – in my arms, and we're engaged. The other half of me is restless, because I have a girl I love – that loves me – in my arms, and we're engaged. Sound confusing? It's not really, because the relaxed and happy part of me is my head. The restless part of me is my body, because she's so _fucking_ gorgeous, and I want nothing more than to take her upstairs and christen Seth and Summer's bridal suite before they do.

It's actually really tempting.

* * *

I don't really care that he told Kirsten. It _is_ nice to have _someone_ that knows, especially someone who won't go spreading it around or making a big deal out of it. Plus, I can't really be mad at him when he learned to dance for me. I mean, Seth complained for _months_ about having to take that class, until Summer'd been ready to murder him. So I think Ryan can be let off the hook for the little engagement slipup, because _Ryan Atwood_ had taken dance lessons - _voluntarily_ - just to make me happy.

I let out a little contented sigh, because he's so warm, one heavy arm wrapped around my waist and holding me tight to him, and I've never felt safer in my whole life. Surrounded by the people I love, with the man I love holding me possessively? _This_ is happiness. I sigh again, and I feel him stiffen a little. I wonder what's wrong with him _now_, but he's started to rub his thumb against the small of my back in little circles. I recognize this move…

"Do you think we can get out of here?" he brings his lips close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. The implication alone is enough to make me melt. But we shouldn't leave, because even the bride and groom haven't left, so we should stay. But then he presses his hips into me, ever so slightly, and I feel him, already half hard, and _God_, I've been waiting for this for two days. I lift my head off his shoulder and glance around the room surreptitiously before nodding slightly.

* * *

I'm only vaguely aware of Taylor's voice, telling me to slow down. It's like tunnel vision, and all I'm focused on is the Jeep, and getting Taylor in there and back to _our_ apartment where I can finally fuck her. Maybe I should've just rented a room at the hotel…

I finally reach the Jeep and let go of her wrist, reaching into my pocket for the keys. "Ryan, hold on," she breathes, resting one hand against the car and bending over slightly to catch her breath. I turn to her, running my eyes over her flushed face, her rapidly rising and falling chest, and there's no way I'm making it home. She lets out a surprised squeak as I haul her around the Jeep, so that we're blocked from view from the hotel. I shove her roughly up against the door, crushing my mouth to hers and pushing my tongue past her lips without any finesse whatsoever.

Actually, there's no finesse in _any_ of my movements, but I can tell she doesn't care from the way she's mewling, arching her body and grabbing at me. And there's definitely no finesse when I pull up her skirt, bunching the fabric at her waist and pushing her panties down to her ankles. She lets her head drop back against the car door as I pull up her leg, snaking my hand between our bodies to pull my belt off and open my slacks. I'm so fucking hard, it's actually painful that I'm not in her, and she makes it worse when her own hand joins mine, gripping my cock firmly, and _fuck_, I can't wait any longer. I take about three seconds to align myself before pushing into her with a groan, and she's so _fucking_ hot; _hot, wet, tight_.

She lets out a whimper, and I watch her throat convulse as she swallows, head tilted back, eyes closed. "Finally," she whispers, and I can only nod in agreement. I keep one hand firmly gripping her thigh, keeping it trapped against my waist, and my other hand grabs her hip. I hold on tightly and start to thrust into her. "Oh God," she moans shakily, hands running up my arms to grip my shoulders, grinding her hips into me with those precise movements she's so fucking good at.

"Baby," I grunt, sliding my hand from her waist to press my thumb to her clit, "look at me." She lets out a sharp cry before tilting her head down and I lean forward to kiss her, sloppily, because apparently I've lost all coordination. Her hands link behind my neck, and I try to slow my erratic thrusting, because this is the first time we've had sex since we got engaged, and _up against the door of my Jeep_ isn't exactly the romantic night I'd had planned. Not that she seems to mind, from the way she's moaning and digging her nails into my neck, but still. I wish I could be better for her. I wish I could control myself long enough to at least make it _inside_ the Jeep before my urge to fuck her takes over. I wish I could control the boy from Chino that's still inside me after all these years, but I can't. And right now, he's taking over, urging me on, telling me to make her fucking _scream _my name. Because she's _mine._

I give up trying to be romantic and adjust my grip on her thigh, pulling her tighter against me as I start to fuck her _hard_. And she keeps making these noises – little gasping moans that make the muscles in my stomach tense up and little bolts of lust shoot through me.

"Fuck!" Her eyes widen and I watch her mouth form the word, and it sets off my blinding orgasm – hers is already in progress, hence the outburst. There's a sharp pain in my neck as her nails dig in deep, but I'm barely aware of it, because my mind is focused completely on the way her body feels arched against mine, the way she's clenching around me, the sounds she's making, the overwhelming satisfaction of making her come.

I come down slowly, vaguely aware that she's lowering her leg from my waist, muttering apologies. I'm feeling light – whether from the loss of her weight or from the orgasm – but I start to grin. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

She shrugs, pushing her skirt down. "I don't like cursing," she bites her lip and looks up at me, smiling guiltily. I can't help but laugh, because she's kind of insane. She has absolutely no problem cursing when she's begging me to fuck her, but somehow yelling the word when she orgasms is bad? Maybe because in the first scenario, she's using the word as a verb, in a sentence, and in the second it's more of a vulgar outburst?

Or maybe I'm reading way too much into this.

But somehow her aversion to cursing makes my guilt come back with a vengeance, because she deserves so much more than dirty Jeep sex. I should make this… better? Yeah, better. I need to make this just a little more romantic - shut up that Chino voice - even if she insists she doesn't need it.

"I love you," I whisper, and she looks at me, a little startled. I'm not a big talker, especially not right after sex, so I guess I'm confusing her a bit. Also because I don't say '_I love you_' that often. "You know that, right?" She bites her lip and nods, and I feel better. I mean, I'm sure she _knows_ I love her, but there's always that guilt that I don't say it enough.

"I love you, too," she smiles, bending down slightly to pull up her panties, which reminds me I'm still half naked, so I do the same with my pants. There's still a small bit of guilt in me, and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the whole sex-against-a-Jeep-door thing, not the whole I-love-you thing.

"Sorry," I apologize back, waving my hands vaguely at the Jeep. "You know… for not being able to wait…" I trail off as she laughs, which should be a good sign, but kinda makes me embarrassed, because I realize I sound like an impatient teenager – unable to wait until I get home to get laid.

"Oh, Ryan," she shakes her head at me, still smiling, and I make a small noise of protest, because I'm _not_ a child, thank you very much. This, of course, makes her laugh harder, so I scowl at her, pulling the passenger side door open and bundling her in. She's still grinning when I get around the other side and get in the driver's seat. I know I'm brooding, but I can't help it, cause I'm kind of embarrassed about the whole thing. We drive in silence. She watches the scenery fly by out her window, smiling, while I stare fixedly at the road.

* * *

He's so adorable when he pouts, when he gets all uncomfortable and defensive. I want to tell him he's acting like a child, but I don't, cause if I do, he'll just end up protesting more, and I don't feel like listening to him tell me just how grown up he is. He seems to feel bad about fucking me up against the Jeep, and I think he's reverting back into insecure Ryan – the guy who thinks I want some big romantic gesture from him. Right now I'm sure he's cursing himself for our first post-engagement sex being out in public, instead of in our bed, surrounded by roses or something cliché like that.

The only thing that stops me from talking is the fact that I'm actually _tired_ of talking. Well, not in general, but I'm sick of talking about this. If he doesn't get it by now - that I want whatever he has to give me - then screw it. It's like the proposal. I think his proposal was the most romantic thing I've ever been witness to, because it had been _real_. It had been _us_.

You know what else is us?

Screwing against the side of a Jeep in the middle of a hotel parking lot.

Maybe he'll never get it. Maybe he'll always just assume I want some grand gesture, something 'special'. I guess it doesn't matter, because even if he _does_ think that, it doesn't seem to stop him from being him, so I guess it's not that big of a deal.

Plus, guilty Ryan is _fun_. Speaking of…

"So, I talked to Kirsten…"

_

* * *

_

Oh… only one more chapter to go. I'm quite upset about it, cause – as I've said before – I LOVE writing this story. Probably more than any other multi-chapter (although I feel traitorous for saying that. Chino-verse, cover your ears.)

_Anyway, review!_


	15. Day 15

_Oh my, it's the last chapter. How sad (at least for me, I don't know about you guys)._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Where next?" she pants, running a shaky hand through her hair. I shrug - I don't really care, as long as I get to keep fucking her. "We already did the couch, the shower, and the kitchen counter…"

Fuck yeah, we did. When I got her home after the reception – after that embarrassing little tryst against the Jeep – I had to find _some_ way to wipe the smug grin off her face. Which, of course, had led to me bending her over the back of the couch. Then we decided to just try and christen as many places in _our_ apartment as we could.

"Can we eat something before we continue?" I ask when my stomach rumbles. Sex makes me hungry.

"Yeah," she nods, walking over to the fridge, and have I mentioned how much I love this girl? I fucking _love_ that she has absolutely no problem walking around naked. And it's not just the view that I like – although that's fantastic – it's the fact that she's comfortable with me. I mean, I know she loves me and trusts me, blah, blah, blah, cause she tells me all the time. But I'm a man of actions, not words, so it's things like this that let me know how she _really_ feels.

Cause let's face it, I've had people talk at me all my life. Everyone was always telling me that they cared, that they wanted to help, right before they decided they didn't have time for me and tossed me aside into the system. So I don't exactly _trust_ words.

And – no offense to her – but I trust them even less from someone like Taylor, because they come so easily to her. It's like Seth. They both talk so much, when I first met them, I didn't trust anything that came out. It wasn't until their actions started to back up their talk that I knew. And I feel horrible now, because when Taylor _says_ she loves me, I know she means it, but it's still nice to have some sort of physical confirmation. Like the way she takes my hand when she knows I'm angry, or the way she smiles at me when her mom's making her upset, or the way she doesn't question me when I take her someplace new, because she trusts my judgment and knows I wouldn't take her anywhere she could get hurt.

"How's leftover Thai and peach torte sound?"

* * *

"Ok, not the _best_ combination," he laughs, shoveling more torte into his mouth, so it looks like he doesn't really care.

"That's what you get with leftovers," I shrug, fork dangling from my hand. I'm full, but I'm content to just watch him eat, cause I love that he enjoys the torte so much. Because I baked it and it's like happy little acts of validation every time he takes a bite and chews slowly, lips curling up into a lazy smile.

He notices me staring eventually, because he's always very aware of everything, but he doesn't get embarrassed or annoyed. He just gives me a slow, dirty grin, one that makes heat pool in my stomach. His eyes move down, to where the counter cuts me off, and I bite my lip as he drags his gaze up to my breasts, eyes darkening. I feel my heart speed up and I take a step back from the counter, so he can see the rest of me. His eyes immediately drop down, because he's always had some sort of obsession with my legs. And ass. He _loves_ my ass – or so he tells me.

A lot.

"Fuck, baby," he grunts, moving around the counter, eyes still roving over me. It's thrilling, actually - the heat in his stare, the muscles clenching in his jaw, the way he stalks towards me.

Then he freezes, eyes locked on my throat, and my hand flies up, groping for whatever he's staring at. "Ryan?" I ask, because he looks almost… angry.

"What did I say?" His voice is that deadly mix of rage and lust, and really, I have no idea what he's talking about. "The ring." What? "I want the ring on your finger when I'm fucking you." I find myself nodding, reaching behind me to unclasp the necklace, and the ring slides off the chain, into my hand. Then suddenly he's next to me, and he grabs my wrist, taking the ring out and pushing it roughly onto my finger before crushing his lips to mine.

I make some whimpering noise as he walks me back and suddenly there's something hard and cold against my back. It takes me about four seconds to realize it's the refrigerator door, but that's definitely not as important as his body pressing into the front of me, all hard muscle and hot skin. His hands are rough on my waist, fingers digging in, and I just _know_ I'm gonna have more bruises. Wasn't I gonna talk to him about this? Except right now I don't care all that much, because he pushes into me with a groan.

I try to let my head fall back against the refrigerator door, but he won't let me. Ever since we got engaged he's started this thing where he makes me look at him while he fucks me. It's a little unnerving, to be honest, because he just gets so intense, and I'm still incredibly insecure.

* * *

Desperation fills her gaze when I grab her hair to stop her head from tilting back. Then I let go and put my hand back on her waist, and she knows better than to look away from me now.

I don't know why I make her do this, but ever since I bought that damn ring, I just… want to watch her. I want to watch what I _do_ to her, the way she bites her lip, the way her eyes widen, everything. I want to watch her because sometimes I just can't believe she's mine.

"Mine." The word makes it out of my mouth before I can stop it, and she whimpers, biting her lip and nodding. Looks like I have a new power. "Mine," I say again, tightening my hands on her waist, and she lets out a loud moan. "Say it."

"Yours," she gasps as I thrust into her hard. "Ryan!"

"Again. Say it again, baby," I whisper roughly, grinding my hips into her.

"Yours. Oh God, Ryan!"

Fuck. Her little moans are getting to me, and I feel the familiar tightening in my gut that lets me know I'm about to come. "Come for me," I command, _needing_ her to finish before I do. She doesn't answer, just nods and tightens around me. Fuck, I can't believe it actually worked. "Fuck, Taylor," I slam into her hard, making the refrigerator shake, making her moan, making me come. "God, I love you," I mumble through my haze.

"I love you, too," she whispers back, relaxing against me.

* * *

I moan and roll over, burying my face into the pillow.

"We have to," he sighs, and I feel the bed shift as he gets up. I make some noise in protest – I don't _want_ to get up. It's not fair. I want to go back to sleep. "We can sleep when we get back," he mumbles, and I wonder if he can read my mind. "But we have to see Seth and Summer off."

"Fine," I grumble, pushing myself up and off the very warm, very comfortable bed. "Let's go."

* * *

"I'll miss you, man," Seth gives me a one-armed hug, and I pat his back before he pulls away.

"You're only going for two weeks. We've been apart for longer," I remind him. I mean, doesn't he remember college?

"You'd better not talk about Atwood the entire time," Summer cuts in, arms folded across her stomach. Seth pretends to cringe, but I know she's not mad, because she's smiling. Taylor told me about her dad, and Summer told Seth, so everything's good now. Have I mentioned they're almost sickeningly happy?

"Psh," Seth rolls his eyes, "I wouldn't talk about Ryan all the time," he protests, and I hear Taylor giggle. Summer just rolls her eyes before turning to Taylor.

"Have fun in Maui," Taylor pouts, and the two girls hug.

"Have fun moving all my stuff out," Summer smiles. As our wedding present to them – besides the freakishly expensive coffee maker – is to move my shit out of _their_ apartment, and Summer's stuff out of _ours_. They pull away, and Taylor wipes at her eyes with her left hand.

_Shit_.

* * *

"What the _hell_ is that?" Summer hisses, grabbing my hand away from my face.

"What?" I ask, and off to the side I see Ryan's eyes go wide, his entire body stiffen. What the hell's going on?

"Uh, your hand?" Summer waves my own hand in front of my face, and I feel my stomach _drop_. "Oh. My. _God_," she drops my wrist like it burns before turning accusingly towards Ryan.

"What's going on?" Julie asks. The four of us had been standing off to the side to say our goodbyes, the rest of the family standing on the front porch. Except now they're not, they're moving down the steps toward us, because of Summer's outburst.

"Nothing," Ryan cuts in quickly, moving forward to shield me and Summer's angry gaze follows him.

"Summer, Seth, you're going to miss your flight…" Kirsten must realize what's going on, because she moves out past Julie, resting her hand on Summer's shoulder and gesturing to the waiting cab.

"Oh, I am _so_ ok with missing my flight," Summer rages, eyes going back to me. "Now start talking Townsend. Atwood," she includes Ryan in this. I look at him, then over at Kirsten, who's waiting for us to make a decision, then to the rest of the family – eerily silent as they wait for the story. And when I look back at Ryan, he looks uncomfortable, and I know how he hates to talk. Crap.

"Well," I begin, but shut up when everyone looks at me. Oh God, I've wanted to tell them for so long, but now I can't. This really isn't how I expected this to go.

"We're engaged." Nine heads snap towards Ryan, whose shoulders are set, jaw clenched resolutely, and I've never been more in love with him.

"Oh my God," Summer repeats, looking at me angrily.

"I'm sorry!" I rush out, feeling the words rise in my throat. "It just _happened_ and we didn't want to tell you guys, cause I didn't want to steal your thunder, but now I am, cause I forgot to take the ring off and put it back on the chain, and-"

"Taylor," Summer snaps, and I shut up. "I can't believe you thought I'd be _angry_ that you're engaged!" What? She's not?

"You're not?"

"Well, I'm a little angry you didn't tell me..." she starts, but then she's hugging me tight. "Oh my God! You're engaged! Congratulations!"

There's a breathless pause and then everyone's moving forward to say something. Kirsten hangs back as Seth hits Ryan on the shoulder and says something about '_finally_' which makes me wonder if he knew about the ring, and Kaitlin's the next to hug me, followed closely by Julie as Sandy throws his arm around Ryan's shoulders in a one-armed hug and Frank follows it with one of his own. Bullit adds in his own '_bang!'_ of approval, and his new wife hugs me like she's known me all my life.

And through the rush and confusion and excited exclamations, I feel like time has slowed, because it's suddenly real. I stand there, as my family moves around me, and I catch his eye through it all, and he smiles.

* * *

"So I guess it's really real," she murmurs, sliding her hand into mine.

"Yeah." My voice is a little scratchy, and I swallow compulsively around the lump in my throat. I really shouldn't be this nervous, but I can't help it. I mean, it's _me_ and it's _commitment_, so there's automatically that panic, because she's right, it wasn't real until everyone knew.

"You ok?" I finally look over at her, and she's tilting her head at me, the shade from the tree making little patterns over her face. Behind me I hear everyone – minus Seth and Summer who left – talking, and their voices, combined with the breeze, makes me calm down.

"Yeah. I'm ok." And I am. I mean, besides the panic making my heart race, I'm ok. Because I know the panic'll go away eventually, it's just my natural reaction to change.

"Good," she nods, leaning up to kiss me on the cheek, "cause someone's gonna have to tell my mom, and it's gonna be you." She walks away before I have a chance to protest, joining the rest of the family as they head back into the house.

"Um. Taylor?" I call after her, jogging towards the porch. She turns her head, eyes widening, and pushes Kaitlin out of the way to get inside first. "Taylor," I make my voice commanding and loud, and the entire family looks at me as she lets out a squeak and starts to run. Oh hell no. The family stands aside as I sprint up the porch steps after her, focusing on the bright fabric of her shirt as she disappears into the house.

* * *

"She's _your_ mother," he shoots back at me, arms braced menacingly on the table. I'm on the other side, trying to figure out if I can make it past him and out into the family room. I mean, I can't go left, cause there's no door that way, and he'll catch me. So it has to be right, into the family room, which links to the living room, where I can either go outside, upstairs, or into the kitchen. But the kitchen only leads back here, to the dining room, or out back, and upstairs is _so_ not an option, cause then I'll be trapped.

"But this whole marriage thing was your idea," I tell him, because I need to distract him. I forgot how damn _fast_ he is. I think I need to dose him with morphine in the mornings to stop him from running. Then the next time this happens, I can outrun him. It's fool proof.

"She hates me," he growls, shifting with me on the other side of the table as I try to move towards the door.

"She hates me, too."

"Yeah, well at least she doesn't think you're a felon," he keeps his eyes locked on me, never once looking away, and it hits me that he's freaking _hunting_ me.

"Ryan, you _are_ a felon."

"I'm not a _felon_," he growls, hands clenching on the table. "'Felon' implies I committed a felony. It was a misdemeanor, and I was under eighteen-"

I make a dash for the family room while he's distracted, and I hear him make a noise behind me as I run through the room. I'm _really_ glad I took my heels off in the dining room before attempting this, I think as I dodge the couch and head to the front door…

I let out a shriek as his hand closes around my arm, jerking me out of my run. The motion causes us both to stumble and I manage to reach my goal – the front door – just not exactly the way I intended to - or, to be more specific, by crashing into it with him right behind. I'm quite disoriented by the whole thing, but he seems to take no notice, because he wastes no time taking me by the shoulders, spinning me around, and slamming me up against the door.

"I'm _not_ a felon," he growls, hands still gripping my arms painfully.

"Really?" I manage to get out – _somehow_, because I'm really quite breathless. "Well you're not exactly _innocent_, chasing down a poor, helpless girl…"

He snorts disdainfully, letting a feral smile spread across his face. "You're hardly helpless," something in him changes as he flicks his eyes away from my face and _down_, smirk getting wider. "And because you're _not_ helpless, you're going to call your mother, and tell her we're engaged."

"And if I don't?" I challenge, and I see the triumph flicker across his eyes. He _wants_ me to fight back, the bastard. A low rumble escapes his throat and he presses himself into me.

"Could you _please_ refrain from doing… _that_ in my house?" Sandy's weary voice interrupts us, and I gasp and shove Ryan forcefully away from me. "I mean, really," the man continues like he doesn't notice Ryan's glare or my embarrassment, "I have a six year old out back who does _not_ need to walk in on that."

"Like she hasn't walked in on you and Kirsten going at it like bunnies," Ryan hisses back angrily, folding his arms across his chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sandy feigns innocence, even though we all know he and Kirsten are still _quite_ active. I hope Ryan and I are still like that after twenty years of marriage. And it gives me a thrill to realize I get the chance to find that out.

"Right," Ryan rolls his eyes, voice heavy with sarcasm, and he pauses long enough to grab my hand before following Sandy into the kitchen and out into the back yard where the rest of the family is.

"Fine," I relent once we're outside and Sandy's gone over to Kirsten. "I'll tell my mom, but in return, you have to give me complete control over the wedding."

He laughs and puts his arm around my shoulders. "Like I was gonna have any input anyway," he shakes his head as I try to pout. Except the whole thing's futile, because he's right. I was planning on doing everything my own way no matter what.

I'm gonna have _fun_.

_

* * *

_

I guess I'd like to thank everyone who's read this (whether you reviewed or not). Vegas, as I've said before, has become my favorite story, and I'm glad I got to share it with you guys!

_Be kind, review!_


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